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Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 

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http://www.archive.org/details/charlottecushmanOOstebrich 


From  a  photograph  by  Gutekumt 


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CHARLOTTE  CUSHMAN': 


HEE  LETTEES  AIH)  MEMOEIES 
OF  HEE  UEE. 


EDITED  BY  HEE  FRIEND, 


EMMA  STEBBINS. 


*'  The  soul  is  in  her  native  realm,  and  it  is  wider  than  space,  older  than  time, 
wide  as  hope,  rich  as  love.  Pusillanimity  and  fear  she  refuses  with  a  beau- 
tiful scorn.  They  are  not  for  her  who  putteth  on  her  coronation  robes,  and 
goes  through  universal  love  to  universal  power." — Emerson. 


BOSTOIT: 
HOUGHTON,  OSGOOD  AND  COMPANY. 

1879. 


/ 


Copyright,  1878. 
By  HOUGHTON,  OSGOOD  AND  COMPANY. 

AU  rights  reserved.  . 


•  •••••     • 

•  •  •,   •  •     • 

•       •  •'   •     •  • 


•  •  • 

•  •• ' 


University  Press:  Welch,  Bigelow,  &  Co., 
Cambridge. 


TO 


THE  DEAMATIC  PEOFESSION, 

WHICH  MISS  CUSHMAN  LOVED  AND  HONORED, 

TO    WHICH    SHE    GAVE    THE    STUDY    OF    HER    LIFE    AND    THE    LOYAL 

DEVOTION    OF    HER    GREAT    POWERS,    TO    WHICH    SHE  HAS 

LEFT    IN    HER    EXAMPLE    A    NOBLE   AND 

IMPERISHABLE   REMEMBRANCE, 

CTfjts  bolume  is  rtspectfulls  lictiicatrt. 


^^mmm 


A  A    A    A   A 


/ 


TABLE   OF  OOI^TEHTS. 


CHAPTER   I. 

1580.    1835. 

Genealogical  Sketch  of  the  Cushman  Family.  Robert  Cushman  :  his 
Services  to  the  Colony  ;  his  Sermon  ;  his  Son  Thomas  Cushman  ; 
his  Death.  —  Honorable  Mention  of  Both.  —  Elkanah  Cushman. 
—  The  Babbit  Family.  —  Ancestors  on  the  Maternal  Side.  —  The 
Gift  of  Imitation  hereditary.  — Miss  Cushman's  early  Remem- 
brances ;  early  Gifts.  —  Music  a  Passion.  —  First  Play.  —  Sudden 
Birth  of  the  Dramatic  Instinct.  — Family  Misfortunes.  —  Study  of 
Music  as  a  Profession.  —  Practice  in  Church  Choirs.  —  Introduc- 
tion to  Mrs.  Wood.  —  First  Appearance  on  the  Stage  as  Countess 
Almaviva.  —  Goes  to  New  Orleans.  —  Loss  of  Voice.  —  Determina- 
tion to  act.  —  First  Appearance  as  Lady  Macbeth.  —  Success.  — 
Methods  of  Study 1-24 

CHAPTER    II. 
1835-1844. 


Return  to  New  York.  —  Engagement  to  act  at  the  Bowery  Theatre. 
—  Illness.  —  Successful  First  Appearance.  —  Burning  of  the  The- 
atre ;  Loss  of  Wardrobe.  —  Engagement  in  Albany.  —  Death  of 
her  young  Brother.  —  Engagement  at  Park  Theatre,  New  York.  — 
Three  Years'  hard  Work  as  "Walking  Lady."  —  Impressions  of 
her  at  that  Time.  —  Acting  with  Macready.  —  Undertakes  Manage- 
ment of  Walnut  Street  Theatre,  Philadelphia.  —  Dr.  Lardner.  — 
Colley  Grattan.  —  Sallie  Mercer.  —  Sails  for  England.  —  Goes  to 
Scotland  ;  to  Paris. —  Makes  Engagement  to  act  in  London  .     25  ■ 


46 


VI  TABLE   OF  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER    III. 

1845-1846. 

First  Appearance  in  London.  —  Fazio.  —  Letters  to  her  Mother.  — 
Great  Success.  —  Social  Triumphs.  —  Newspaper  Notices  of  the 
Time.  —  Bianca,  Kosalind,  Mrs.  Haller,  Beatrice,  etc.  —  Tour  in 
the  Provinces.  —  Continued  Success.  —  Second  Engagement  in 
London.  —  Romeo  and  Juliet.  —  Newspaper  Notices.  —  Letters 
from  Sheridan  Knowles.  —  Dublin  Audience^ —  Irish  Stories    47  -  67 

CHAPTER    IV. 

1847-1848. 

Komeo  and  Juliet  in  the  Provinces.  —  Visit  to  Paris.  —  Letters  of 
H.  F.  Chorley.  —  Macready's  Farewell.  —  The  Duke  of  Devonshire. 
Letters  of  Miss  Jewsbury,  —  Her  Remembrances.  —  Miss  Cush- 
man's  Letters  to  a  Young  Friend.  —  Mrs.  Carlyle  .        .     68-85 

CHAPTER    V. 

1848-1854. 

Early  Days  in  England.  —  A  Friend's  Memories.  —  Singing  in  So- 
ciety. —  Recitations.  —  Her  Sister's  Marriage.  —  Sails  for  America. 

—  Acts  throughout  the  Country.  —  Successful  Engagements.  — 
Crosses  the  Ocean  to  see  a  sick  Friend.  —  Returns  to  the  States. 
• —  Again  crosses  the  Ocean.  —  Seaforth  Hall.  —  Isle  of  Wight.  — 
First  Visit  to  Rome.  —  Page's  Portrait.  —  Paul  Akers.  —  Other 
Portraits.  —  Naples.  —  Florence.  —  Paris.  —  Return  to  England. 

—  Malvern.  —  Acting  in  London.  —  House  in  Bolton  Row.  — 
May-fair  Dinner  to  Ristori.  —  Miss  Cushman's  Diary.  —  Record  of 
1855-1857.— Second  Visit  to  Rome 86-110 

CHAPTER    VI. 

1858-1859. 

Acting  in  the  States.  —  Return  to  England.  —  Summer  Excursions. 
Rome.  —  38  Via  Gregoriana.  —  First  Evening  Reception.  —  De- 
scription of  the  Roman  Home  ;  its  Aspect  without  and  within. 

—  The  Italian  Servants;  their  Peculiarities. — The  Cook. —  The 


TABLE  OF  CONTENTS.  VU 

Major  domo.  —  **  The  Principe."  —  The  Portress.  —  The  Dogs.  — 
The  Horses.  —  The  Birds.  —  The  Campagna.  —  The  Aqueducts. 

—  The  Rides.  — The  Hunt.  —  Shepherd  Dogs.  —  Oxen.  —  Dangers 
of  the  Campagna.  —  The  Spring.  — The  Flowers.  —  The  Excava- 
tions. —  New  Discoveries.  —  A  Friend's  Memories     .        .     111-142 

CHAPTER    VII. 

Miss  Cushman  behind  the  Scenes.  —  The  Drama  ;  its  Shortcomings ; 
its  Excellences  ;  its  Opportunities.  —  Incident  in  Chicago.  —  Ee- 
membrances  of  Meg  Merrilies  ;  First  Assumption  of  the  Part ;  Mr. 
Bi-aham  ;  The  "  Make-up  "  ;  The  Costume;  The  Finale. — De- 
mand for  the  **  Sticks."  —  Disposition  of  the  Reading-Table  and 
Chair.  —  Nancy  Sykes.  —  Letter  on  Charity  and  Actors  143  - 158 

CHAPTER    VIII. 

1859-1862. 

Death  of  her  Sister.  —  Excursion  in  Wales.  —  Winter  in  Rome.  — 
Theodore  Parker.  —  Bust  modelled.  —  Sails  for  New  York.  —  Acts 
for  Dramatic  Fund.  —  Acts  in  chief  Cities.  —  Visits  Mr.  Seward 
in  Washington.  —  Returns  to  England.  —  Letters  of  1861.  —  Isle 
of  Wight.  —  Letters.  —  Paris.  —  Visit  to  Rosa  Bonheur's  Studio. 

—  French  Theatres.  —  George  Sand.  —  Love  for  Children.  —  Let- 
ter upon  the  Sacredness  of  the  Maternal  Trust.  —  Rome  and  the 
Roman  Climate  ;  Letters  on  this  Subject.  —  Letters  on  the  North- 
ern Successes.  —  Return  to  Rome.  —  Spezzia.  —  Mrs.  Somerville. 

— Letters  on  Religious  Subjects         .....     159  - 180 

CHAPTER   IX. 

1861-1867. 

Letters.  —  Roman  Winters.  -—  In  1863  returns  to  the  States  to  act 
for  the  Sanitary  Commission.  —  Acts  in  New  York,  Philadelphia, 
Baltimore,  Washington,  and  Boston  for  this  Purpose.  —  Letter  to 
Dr.  Bellows  ;  his  Reply.  —  Presentation  of  Album  from  Great  Cen- 
tral Fair.  —  Reads  the  Ode  on  the  Inauguration  of  the  Great  Organ 
in  Music  Hall,  Boston.  —  Sails  for  Liverpool.  — Rome.  —  Letters. 
Excursion  to  Naples.  —  Letters.  —  England.  —  Harrowgate.  —  Let- 
ters. —  Rome.  —  Letters.  —  Summoned  to  England  to  her  Mother's 
Death-bed.  —  Presentation  of  Alti  Rilievi  to  Music  Hall,  and  De- 
scription of  them 181-210 


Vlll  TABLE  OF  CONTENTS. 


CHAPTEK   X. 

Dramatic  Readings.  Providence  :  Henry  VIII.,  Mac"beth,  Hamlet, 
Cardinal  Wolsey.  —  Humorous  Characters  in  Shakespeare.  — 
Readings :  Emotional,  Heroic,  Humorous,  Lyrical.  —  The  Skeleton 
in  Armor.  —  Battle  of  Ivry.  —  Hei-ve  Eiel.  —  Dialect  Poems.  — 
Death  of  the  Old  Squire. — Burns. — Miss  Maloney.  —  "Betsy 
and  I  are  out,"  etc 213-228 

CHAPTER    XI^ 

1869-1874. 

First  Appearance  of  the  Fatal  Malady.  —  Rome.  —  Goes  to  Paris  for 
Advice.  — Dr.  Sims.  —  England.  —  Sir  James  Paget.  —  Malvern. 
Edinburgh.  —  Sir  James  Simpson.  —  Operation  decided  on ;  takes 
place.  —  Long  and  serious  Illness.  —  Supposed  Recovery.  —  Re- 
turns to  Rome.  —  Reappearance  of  the  Disease.  —  Returns  to  Eng- 
land. —  Submits  to  Second  Operation.  —  Recovers  for  a  Time.  — 
Return  of  Unfavorable  Symptoms.  —  Decides  to  return  to  America. 

—  Roman  Home  broken  up.  —  Builds  Villa  at  Newport.  —  By 
Advice  of  Physicians,  returns  to  the  Stage.  —  Acts  in  New  York  ; 
in  Boston.  —  School-house  named  for  her.  —  Extracts  from  Let- 
ters of  these  Years.  —  Acting  and  Reading  in  Various  Places.  — 
Letters. —  Illness  in  Baltimore 229-257 

CHAPTER    XII. 

Farewell  to  the  Stage  in  New  York.  —  The  Ovation.  —  The  Ode.  — 
The  Speeches.  —  Letters.  — Farewell  to  Philadelphia.  —  Readings. 

—  Illness  in  Cincinnati.  —  Recovery.  —  Readings.  —  Acting  in 
the  "West.  —  Illness  in  St.  Louis.  —  Reading  in  Philadelphia.  — 
Ristori. — Farewell  to  Boston    .        .        .        .        .        .258-275 

CHAPTER   XIII. 

1875-1876. 

Last  Winter  in  Boston.  —  Courage  and  Sustainment.  —  Daily  Let- 
ters. —  Fears  and  Hopes.  —  Preparations  for  Death.  —  Description 
of  her  Surroundings.  —  Unexpectedness  of  her  Death.  —  Funeral 
Ceremonies.  —  Mount  Auburn 276  -  286 

CHAPTER   XIV. 
Tributes  to  her  Memory 287-303 


LIST  OF  rLLUSTRATIOlSra 
Portrait  op  Miss  Cushman   .....      Frontispiece. 

Page 

Miss  Stebbins's  Bust  op  Miss  Cushman  .       .       .       .161 


Miss  Cushiian's  Villa,  Newport,  E.  I. 


244 


^ 


CHARLOTTE  CUSHMAN: 

HER  LIFE,  LETTERS,  AND  MEMORIES 


CHAPTER  I. 


GENEALOGICAL.  SKETCH  OF  THE  CUSHMAN 
FAMILY. 

*'  Good  name  in  man  or  woman 
Is  the  immediate  jewel  of  their  souls." 

Othello, 

HE  story  of  the  first  settlers  of  New  England  — 
of  that  small  band  of  devoted  men  and  women 
who  left  their  native  land  and  subjected  them- 
selves with  unshaken  constancy  and  courage  to  the  perils 
and  dangers  and  privations  of  the  wilderness,  seeking 
only  the  privilege  of  worshipping  God  according  to  their 
own  consciences  —  is  too  well  known  to  need  much  re- 
capitulation here.  It  is,  as  it  should  be,  a  household 
word  ;  it  is  one  of  the  worthiest  boasts  of  the  nation, 
that  in  this  transplantation  to  the  shores  of  the  New 
World  its  chief  or  tap  root  struck  deep  down,  —  the  noble 
and  true  Puritan  element,  compounded  of  the  best  quali- 
ties of  any  race,  —  earnestness,  sincerity,  and  thorough 
conscientiousness. 


2  CHARLOTTE  CUSHMAN : 

Among  the  me^  who  first  conceived,  and  afterwards 
carried  out,  this  plan  of  emigration  to  America  for  con- 
science' sake,  Robert  Cushman,  the  ancestor  of  Charlotte 
Cushman,  holds  an  honored  and  honorable  place. 

To  interpret  justly  a  noble  character,  it  becomes  neces- 
sary to  search  out  all  its  springs  of  action,  to  follow  up 
and  grasp  carefully  the  subtle  links  which  bind  it  to  the 
past,  have  swayed  it  through  life,  andf^till  stretch  onward 
through  influence  and  example  into  the  illimitable  future. 
The  antecedents  of  such  a  character  as  that  of  Miss  Cush- 
man, even  as  far  back  as  we  can  trace  them,  cannot  but  be 
of  importance  and  interest,  not  only  to  those  who  loved 
her  as  few  have  ever  been  loved,  but  to  that  large  pub- 
lic who  knew  her  only  in  her  work,  but  over  whom  she 
held  the  sway  of  a  master-spirit,  and  between  whom  and 
herself  existed  the  never-failing  attraction  of  a  powerful 
and  magnetic  sympathy.  I  therefore  recur  briefly  to  such 
records  as  I  have  at  my  command  concerning  the  two 
honorable  families  from  whom  she  has  descended, —  the 
Cushmans  and  Babbits  of  New  England.  Eobert  Cush- 
man,* the  founder  of  the  family  in  this  country,  was  an 
Englishman,  a  Nonconformist  or  Puritan,  one  of  the  origi- 
nal band  of  Pilgrims,  and  a  trusted  and  esteemed  leader 
among  them,  who  first  emigrated  to  Leyden,  in  Hol- 
land, "  having  heard  that  there  they  could  find  freedom  of 
religion  for  all  men."  At  Leyden,  after  a  peaceful  resi- 
dence of  some  years,  they  began  to  agitate  the  question  of 
emigration  to  America,  a  project  in  which  Robert  Cush- 
man took  a  deep  interest.  He  was  selected,  in  company 
with  Deacon  John  Carver,  to  go  to  England  and  open 
negotiations  with  a  company  which  had  been  formed 
under  the  royal  sanction,  called  the  Virginia  Company, 

•  Born  1580  or  1586;  exact  date  not  known. 


HER  LIFE,  LETTERS,  AND  MEMORIES.  3 

"for  liberty  to  settle  on  the  company's  territory  in  Xorth 
America."  But  their  chief  object,  then  and  always,  was 
to  secure  from  the  king  the  gift  of  liberty  of  conscience 
there.  These  negotiations  did  not  prove  very  successful ; 
all  the  favor  they  could  obtain  was  the  king's  gracious 
permission  for  them  to  go,  and  his  promise  to  connive  at 
them,  and  not  molest  them;  but  his  public  authority^ 
under  his  seal,  could  not  be  granted. 

Three  journeys  from  Leyden  to  England  were  made  on 
this  mission,  always  urging  their  great  point,  "  freedom  to 
worship  God,"  and  never  either  dismayed  or  discouraged  by 
their  want  of  success.  At  length,  finding  they  could  only 
obtain  a  sort  of  compromise,  which  permitted  them, "  so  long 
as  they  remained  faithful  subjects  of  his  Majesty,"  to  be 
tolerated  in  their  form  of  worship,  which  was  neverthe- 
less declared  to  be  essentially  unsound  and  heretical, 
they  finally  determined  to  emigrate  without  further  delay 
or  preamble,  and  take  the  future  into  their  own  hands. 
Eobert  Cushman  and  Elder  Brewster,  being  then  appointed 
financiers  and  managers  of  the  affairs  of  the  "Adven- 
turers," as  they  were  called  in  England,  procured  for 
them  two  ships,  the  Speedwell,  a  vessel  of  only  sixty  tons 
burden,  and  the  famous  Mayflower,  a  little  larger.  These 
two  vessels  sailed  in  company  from  Southampton  on  the 
5th  of  August,  1620,  Robert  Cushman  and  family  sailing 
with  them. 

A  series  of  disasters,  owing  to  the  unseaworthy  condi- 
tion of  the  Speedwell,  obliged  them  to  put  back  into  port 
twice,  and  delayed  the  final  departure  until  Wednesday, 
September  6,  1620,  when  the  Mayflower  sailed  with  only 
a  portion  of  the  company,  the  vessel  not  being  large 
enough  to  accommodate  them  all ;  among  those  w^ho  re- 
mained behind  was  Eobert  Cushman,  it  being  considered 
more  important  that  he  should  remain,  as  financier  and 


4  CHARLOTTE  CUSHMAN  : 

agent  at  Leyden,  to  look  after  the  interests  of  the  colony, 
and  send  them  out  supplies  and  necessaries. 

During  the  following  year  Eobert  Cushman  published 
an  able  pamphlet  on  Emigration  to  America,  urging  the 
advantages  of  settling  in  that  country,  and  on  the  return 
of  the  Mayflower,  with  favorable  accounts  of  the  establish- 
ment of  the  colony  at  New  Plymouth  he  made  his  ar- 
rangements to  join  them,  with  others  who  had  been  left 
behind.  Early  in  July  he  sailed  for  New  England  in  the 
Fortune,  a  small  vessel  of  fifty-five  tons,  taking  with  him 
his  only  son,  Thomas,  whom,  on  his  return  to  England, 
he  left  behind  him  in  the  family  of  the  first  colonial  gov- 
ernor, Bradford.  He  returned,  still  acting  in  the  interests 
of  the  colonists,  and  before  leaving  delivered  an  able  ser- 
mon or  address  to  the  Pilgrims,  since  quite  noted  as  the 
first  sermon  delivered  and  printed  in  New  England. 

On  one  of  Miss  Cushman's  professional  visits  to  Boston 
Theodore  Parker  brought  her  a  copy  of  this  sermon,  which 
was  first  published  in  London  in  1622,  the  year  after  its 
delivery,  and  afterwards  reprinted  in  Boston  in  1724. 
Various  other  editions  were  printed  in  1780,  1815,  1822, 
and  1826.  Mr.  Cushman  continued  to  act  for  the  colony 
up  to  the  time  of  his  death,  which  took  place  in  April, 
1626. 

In  the  records  of  the  colony  may  be  found  many  evi- 
dences of  the  esteem  and  consideration  in  which  he  was 
held,  and  the  loss  they  felt  they  had  sustained  in  his 
death.  Governor  Bradford  alludes  to  him  as  "the  right 
hand  of  the  Adventurers,  who  for  divers  years  has  man- 
aged all  our  business  with  them  to  our  great  advantage." 
He  is  also  spoken  of  by  the  Hon.  John  Davis,  Judge  of 
the  United  States  District  Court  of  Massachusetts,  in  a 
biographical  sketch  of  him,  published  with  an  edition  of 
his  sermon  in  1785,  as  "one  of  the  most  distinguished 


HER  LIFE,  LETTERS,  AND   MEMORIES.  5 

characters  among  the  collection  of  worthies  who  quitted 
England  on  account  of  their  religion,  and  settled  in  Ley- 
den  in  1609.  The  news  of  his  death  and  that  of  Mr. 
Kobinson,  their  pastor  in  the  city  of  Leyden,  were  brought 
at  the  same  time  to  Plymouth  by  Captain  Standish,  and 
they  were  equally  lamented  by  their  bereaved  and  suffer- 
ing friends  there.  He  was  zealously  engaged  in  the  suc- 
cess of  the  colony,  —  a  man  of  activity  and  enterprise, 
well  versed  in  business,  respectable  in  point  of  intellec- 
tual abilities,  well  accomj)lished  in  Scriptural  knowledge, 
an  unaffected  professor,  and  a  steady,  sincere  practiser 
of  religion." 

At  a  later  period  (1846)  Judge  Davis  remarked  in  a 
letter  to  Charles  Ewer,  Esq.,  the  publisher  of  a  new 
edition  of  Mr.  Cushman's  sermon :  "  That  discourse  is 
a  precious  relic  of  ancient  times ;  the  sound  good  sense, 
good  advice,  and  pious  spirit  which  it  manifests  will,  it 
may  be  hoped,  now  and  in  all  future  time  meet  with 
approval  and  beneficial  acceptance  in  our  community." 
Says  the  venerable  Dr.  D  wight,  formerly  President  of 
Yale  College,  in  a  volume  of  his  travels  in  the  United 
States,  published  in  1800,  "By  me  the  names  of  Carver, 
Bradford,  Cushman,  and  Standish  will  never  be  forgotten 
until  I  lose  the  power  of  recollection." 

Many  other  testimonials  might  be  gathered  together 
here,  showing  the  genuine  worth  of  Bobert  Cushman  and 
the  high  consideration  he  enjoyed  among  his  associates; 
but  enough  has  been  said  to  prove  Miss  Cushman's  right 
by  inheritance  to  those  qualities  which  lie  at  the  root  of 
all  success,  and  the  possession  of  which  her  subsequent 
career  so  fully  exemplified. 

It  will  be  remembered  that  Thomas  Cushman,  the  only 
son  of  Eobert,  remained  with  the  colony  when  his  father 
returned  to  England,  a  member  of  the  family  of  Gov- 


6  CHARLOTTE  CUSHMAN  : 

ernor  Bradford.  About  the  year  1635,  the  record  says,  he 
married  Mary  AUerton,  the  third  child  of  Isaac  Allerton, 
who  came  over  in  the  Mayflower.  In  that  matrimonial 
relation  they  lived  together  fifty-five  years,  she  surviv- 
ing him  nearly  ten  years. 

In  1649,  the  office  of  ruling  elder  of  the  church  at 
Plymouth  becoming  vacant  by  the  death  of  Elder  Brew- 
ster, Thomas  Cushman  was  appointed:^o  that  office,  and 
continued  to  hold  it  to  the  day  of  his  death,  a  period  of 
over  forty-three  years.  He  was  always  the  intimate  and 
confidential  friend  of  Governor  Bradford,  and  was  the 
principal  witness  to  his  will. 

The  first  volume  of  the  Eecords  of  the  First  Church  at 
Plymouth  contains  the  following  notice  of  Elder  Cush- 
man's  death :  — 

"  1692.  It  pleased  God  to  seize  upon  our  good  Elder,  Mr. 
Thomas  Cushman,  by  sickness,  and  in  this  year  to  take  him 
from  us.  He  was  chosen  and  ordained  Elder  of  this  Church, 
April  6,  1649 ;  he  was  neare  forty-three  years  in  his  office;  he 
had  bin  a  rich  blessing  to  this  church  scores  of  years  ;  he  was 
grave,  sober,  holy,  and  temperate,  very  studious  and  solici- 
tous for  the  peace  and  prosperity  of  the  Church,  and  to  pre- 
vent and  heal  all  breaches.  He  dyed  December  11th,  neare 
the  end  of  the  eighty-four  yeare  of  his  life.  December  1 6th 
was  kept  as  a  day  of  humiliation  for  his  death.  Much  of  God's 
presence  went  away  from  this  church  when  this  blessed  Pillar 
was  removed." 

He  was  buried  on  the  southerly  brow  of  "Burying 
Hill,"  in  a  very  beautiful  locality,  commanding  a  full 
view  of  Plymouth  harbor,  of  the  town,  of  the  green  hills 
in  the  distance,  and  of  the  "  meeting-house  "  in  which  for 
more  than  seventy  years  he  had  prayed  and  worshipped. 
The  gravestone  erected  by  Plymouth  Church  twenty- 
four  years  after  his  death  is  a  plain  slab  of  mica  slate 


HER  LIFE,  LETTERS,  AND   MEMORIES.  7 

about  three  and  one  half  feet  in  height,  and  was  probably 
imported  from  England.  It  is  now  in  a  good  state  of 
preservation,  and  although  it  has  stood  nearly  one  hun- 
dred and  forty  years,  the  inscription  is  yet  distinct  and 
legible.  It  speaks  of  him  as  that  "precious  servant  of 
God."  His  widow,  Mary  AUerton,  died  at  ninety,  and 
was  the  last  survivor  of  the  one  hundred  who  came  over 
in  the  Mayflower. 

In  the  seventh  generation  from  Eobert  Cushman  —  dur- 
ing which  lonjT  time  a  succession  of  Cushmans,  aU  more 
or  less  honorable,  respectable,  and  some  of  them  distin- 
guished, lived  and  died  —  Elkanah,  the  father  of  Charlotte, 
makes  his  appearance. 

There  are  five  generations  of  Elkanahs,  after  Thomas 
Cushman,  all  born  in  Plymouth  and  Plympton ;  the  first 
being  the  second  son  of  the  Eev.  Isaac  Cushman,  who 
was  the  son  of  Thomas,  and  first  minister  of  the  Church 
of  Christ  at  Plympton,  as  his  tombstone  records.  The 
fifth  Elkanah  married  Lydia  Bradford,  who  was  the  great- 
granddaughter  of  William  Bradford,  second  Governor  of 
Plymouth  Colony.  The  sixth  Elkanah  was  one  of  the 
founders  of  the  old  Colony  Club  in  1769.  Isaac  Lothrop 
was  President,  Thomas  Lothrop  Secretary,  and  Elkanah 
Cushman  Steward.  He  married  Mary  Lothrop.  The 
seventh  Elkanah,  born  at  Plymouth  in  1769,  married  for 
second  wife  Mary  Eliza  Babbit,  and  was  the  father  of 
Charlotte  Saunders  Cushman,  who  was  born  in  Eichmond 
Street,  Boston,  July  23,  1816.* 

He  was  the  son  of  poor  parents  in  Plymouth,  Mas- 
sachusetts. Left  an  orphan  at  the  early  age  of  thirteen, 
he  walked  to  Boston  to  seek  his  fortune,  and  obtaining 

*  I  am  indebted  for  the  foregoing  information  concerning  the  Cush- 
man family  to  a  volume  of  Genealogical  Records  gathered  together  by 
the  Hon.  Henry  "W.  Cushman,  and  printed  in  1855. 


8  CHARLOTTE  CUSHMAN  : 

there  modest  employment,  by  his  industry,  probity,  and 
good  conduct  succeeded  in  saving  a  sufficient  sum  to  en- 
able him  to  enter  into  business  on  his  own  account.  He 
was  for  some  years  a  successful  merchant  on  Long  Wharf, 
Boston,  of  the  firm  of  Topliff  and  Cushman.  From  time 
to  time  he  sent  ventures  to  the  West  Indies,  and  to  the 
infidelity  of  those  whom  he  trusted  as  supercargoes  may 
be  mainly  attributed  his  subsequent  failure,  and  the  con- 
sequent troubles  of  the  family. 

Many  of  Charlotte  Cushman's  reminiscences  of  her 
early  childhood  bore  reference  to  her  father's  warehouse, 
and  to  her  childish  happiness  when  she  could  escape  from 
home  with  her  brother  Charles  and  enjoy  the  freedom 
and  delight  of  the  wharves.  On  one  of  these  occasions 
fate  came  within  a  hair's-breadth  of  cutting  off  very  pre- 
maturely all  the  promise  which  lay  stored  in  her  childish 
person.  They  were  amusing  themselves  by  jumping  from 
the  wharf  to  a  vessel  which  lay  close  alongside  in  pro- 
cess of  loading.  After  many  successful  leaps  came  an 
unlucky  one,  which  fell  short,  and  Charlotte  fell  between 
the  vessel  and  the  wharf  and  sank  in  the  deep  waters. 
An  ojitcry  was  raised;  a  passer-by  leaped  in,  rescued 
the  child,  and  went  his  way.  Charlotte  would  tell  with 
much  humor  how  she  was  carried  in  to  her  father,  and 
there  arrayed  in  whatever  dry  garments  could  be  found 
on  the  spur  of  the  moment,  which  proved  to  be  a  pair  of 
overalls  and  a  large  jacket,  called  a  spencer,  which  were 
hurriedly  put  on  her  in  great  trepidation  and  anxiety. 
Arrived  at  home  in  this  guise,  she  found  her  mother 
much  more  disposed  to  be  severe  at  her  escapade  than 
pitiful  over  her  danger ;  and  nothing  saved  her  from  con- 
dign punishment  but  symptoms  of  illness  which  followed 
upon  the  excitement  and  exposure.  Here  the  tale  seemed 
ended ;  but  long  years  after  came  a  sequel  in  the  shape  of 


HER  LIFE,  LETTERS,  AND   MEMORIES.  9 

a  very  respectable  old  gentleman,  who  asked  to  see  her 
one  day,  and  modestly  informed  her  that  he  was  the  for- 
tunate individual  who  had  plucked  her  out  of  the  water 
and  saved  her  for  all  that  had  followed,  and  how  hon- 
ored and  delighted  he  felt  in  having  been  the  instru- 
ment, etc. 

The  following  brief  memoranda  of  the  Babbit  family, 
the  ancestors  of  Charlotte  Cushman  on  the  maternal 
side,  have  been  kindly  furnished  me  by  Mr.  Manning 
Leonard,  of  Southbridge,  formerly  Sturbridge,  Massachu- 
setts, the  native  town  of  the  Babbit  family,  who  has  made 
the  collection  of  these  records  a  labor  of  love,  through 
the  interest  he  has  found  in  the  subject.  The  first  of  the 
family  of  whom  he  makes  mention  is  Dr.  Erasmus  Babbit, 
the  second  practising  physician  in  Sturbridge,  a  very 
prominent  man,  of  remarkable  energy  and  perseverance. 
(These  two  qualities,  which  were  the  most  marked  traits 
in  the  character  of  Charlotte  Cushman,  have  descended 
to  her  in  a  direct  line  from  both  sides  of  her  house.)  He 
married,  in  1758,  Mrs.  Mary  (Marcy)  Remington,  a  daugh- 
ter of  Colonel  Moses  Marcy,  and  widow  of  Dr.  Meshach 
Eemington,  the  first  practising  physician  in  Sturbridge. 
His  second  child,  Thomas,  graduated  at  Harvard  in  1784, 
studied  medicine  with  Dr.  Warren,  of  Boston,  and  was 
the  acknowledged  head  of  the  profession  in  New  Eng- 
land, and  probably  on  this  side  the  Atlantic. 

Erasmus  Babbit,  Jr.,  his  second  son  and  third  child,  was 
born  in  1765,  graduated  at  Harvard  in  1790,  studied  law 
and  was  admitted  to  the  bar  in  Worcester  in  1793,  and 
married  about  the  same  year  Mary  Saunders,  sometimes 
spelled  Sanders,  daughter  of  the  Hon.  Thomas  Saunders, 
Jr.,  of  Gloucester.  (Her  mother  was  Lucy  Smith,  daugh- 
ter of  Rev.  Thomas  Smith,  a  celebrated  divine  of  Fal- 
mouth, now  Portland,  Maine.)     This  Mary  Saunders  and 


10  CHARLOTTE  CUSHMAN  : 

Erasmus  Babbit  were  the  maternal  grandparents  of  Char^ 
lotte  Cusbman, 

Erasmus  Babbit,  Jr.,  was  captain  of  a  company  in  the 
army  quartered  at  Oxford,  1788  -  89,  under  Colonel  Na- 
than Rice,  a  native  of  Sturbridge.  He  is  set  down  as 
practising  law  at  various  places,  as  having  been  remark- 
ably fond  of  music,  and  having  a  wonderful  memory.  It 
has  been  said  that  he  could  play  )jpon  the  violin  and 
sing  "  from  sunrise  to  sunset."  As  might  be  presumed, 
his  clients  were  not  numerous  and  his  fees  "  small" 

Their  children  were  :  — 

Mary  Eliza  (Charlotte's  mother),  born  in  1793. 

"Winthrop  Gray,  born  in  1793. 

Francis  Augustus,  born  in  1803. 

Among  the  children  of  Dr.  Erasmus  Babbit  is  one 
named  Henry,  who  died  at  the  early  age  of  twenty- 
three.  He  also  was  a  musician,  and  very  much  beloved. 
His  funeral  is  said  to  have  been  one  of  the  largest  ever 
attended  in  the  town.  An  interest  attaches  to  him,  from 
the  tradition  that  Charlotte  Saunders,  the  aunt  for  whom 
Charlotte  Cushman  was  named,  was  engaged  to  him,  and 
never  recovered  his  loss ;  as  is  commonly  said,  "  she 
never  was  the  same  after."  She  is  remembered  as  a 
woman  of  culture  and  refinement,  very  modest  and  retir- 
ing, and  at  times  recluse.  The  oldest  memoranda  of  her 
I  have  in  my  possession  consist  of  a  few  letters  to  her 
"  dear  Lotty,"  dated  Boston,  —  sometimes  the  day  of  the 
month,  but  no  year  given  ;  upon  one  of  these  is  a  memo- 
randum in  Charlotte  Cushman's  hand :  "  From  my  dear 
Aunt  Charlotte,  1846."  Whether  this  is  the  date  of  the 
reception  of  the  letter,  or  only  when  the  memorandum 
was  made,  is  not  clear ;  but  the  latter  is  most  likely,  as  it 
is  two  years  after  her  first  journey  to  England.  (This  was 
the  last  letter  Charlotte  Cushman  received ;  the  news  of 
her  death  followed.) 


HER  LIFE,  LETTERS,  AND  MEMORIES.  11 

•  These  letters  are  chiefly  interesting  as  showing  that 
even  at  that  early  time  Charlotte  had  commenced  her 
career  of  thoughtful  kindness  and  care  of  all  who  had  any 
claim  upou  her  sympathy ;  they  are  mostly  acknowledg- 
ments of  little  gifts,  and  it  is  very  evident  that  already 
Charlotte  is  the  ruling  spirit  of  the  family  and  the  one  to 
-whom  they  all  look  up ;  everything  depends  upon  her 
success,  her  engagements,  which  are  to  benefit  the  whole. 
There  are  allusions  to  the  disasters  which  befell  Mr. 
Cushman's  business.  She  is  evidently  suffering  from  the 
feebleness  incident  to  declining  life ;  the  writing  is  weak 
and  tremulous;  but  there  are  no  complaints,  only  con- 
stant references  to  the  blessings  she  has  about  her,  and 
a  general  tone  which  bespeaks  a  woman  of  sound  mind 
-and  character. 

Her  sister,  Mary  Babbit,  Jr.,  as  she  sometimes  wrote 
her  name,  was  very  different ;  fond  of  company  and  "  a 
good  time,"  never  discouraged;  of  wonderful  powers  of 
mimicry,  she  could  imitate  almost  any  sound  that  could 
be  made.  Her  daughter,  Mary  Eliza,  Charlotte  Cush- 
man's mother,  was  a  good  singer,  a  good  scholar,  and 
reported  the  best  reader  in  all  that  region. 

There  are  only  certain  brief  memoranda  from  Miss 
Cushman's  own  lips  taken  down  at  various  times  during 
the  last  few  years ;  alas  !  too  few  and  brief,  for  she  never 
could  do  anything  in  cold  blood ;  she  required  the  social 
stimulus,  the  interest  of  her  listeners,  which  she  never 
failed  to  control  and  retain  at  her  pleasure,  and  she  very 
soon  wearied  of  mere  dictation  of  facts  to  an  amanuensis ; 
beside  that,  she  took  singularly  little  interest  in  the  idea 
of  posthumous  fame  or  remembrance  after  her  death. 
She  often  said  sadly,  "  What  is  or  can  be  the  record  of  an 
actress,  however  famous?  They  leave  nothing  behind 
them  but  the  vaguest  of  memories.     Ask  any  number  of 


12  CHAELOTTE   CUSHMAN  : 

persons  to  give  you  a  real  picture  or  positive  image  of 
the  effect  any  great  actor  produced  in  his  time,  and  they 
can  tell  you  nothing  more  than  that  it  was  fine,  it  was 
grand,  it  was  overwhelming ;  but  ask  them  how  did  he  do 
such  or  such  a  thing,  how  did  he  render  such  a  passage  ? 
describe  his  manner,  his  gesture,  even  his  personal  ap- 
pearance, that  we  may  have  a  living  picture  of  him,  — 
and  they  are  at  once  at  a  loss.  I^rls  all  gone;  passed 
away.  Now,  other  artists  —  poets,  painters,  sculptors, 
musicians  —  produce  something  which  lives  after  them 
and  enshrines  their  memories  in  positive  evidences  of 
their  divine  mission;  but  we,  —  we  strut  and  fret  our 
hour  upon  the  stage,  and  then  the  curtain  falls  and  all  is 
darkness  and  silence." 

Much  might  be  said  in  answer  to  this :  her  whole  life 
and  the  honors  which  have  been  paid  her,  the  position 
she  has  taken  in  the  mind  and  heart  of  her  generation,  are 
sufficient  to  show  that,  like  all  true  workers  and  noble  souls, 
she  had  a  mission  to  fulfil  much  higher  and  broader  than 
she  ever  realized.  She  "  builded  better  than  she  knew  " ; 
and  the  foundation  she  laid  and  the  edifice  she  erected 
stands  strong  and  firm,  a  beacon  and  an  emblem,  lighting 
and  guiding  many  steps  through  the  tangled  and  danger- 
ous paths  of  the  profession  she  loved  and  honored. 

The  precious  memoranda  of  Charlotte  Cushman's  earliest 
days  in  Boston  open  with  the  following  sentence:  "I  was 
born  a  tomboy."  In  those  days  this  epithet,  "  tomboy," 
was  applied  to  all  little  girls  who  showed  the  least  ten- 
dency toward  thinking  and  acting  for  themselves.  It  was 
the  advance-guard  of  that  army  of  opprobrious  epithets 
which  has  since  been  lavished  so  freely  upon  the  pioneers 
of  woman's  advancement  and  for  a  long  time  the  ugly 
little  phrase  had  power  to  keep  the  dangerous  feminine 
element  within  what  was  considered  to  be  the  due  bounds 


HER  LIFE,   LETTERS,  AND   MEMORIES.  13 

of  propriety  and  decorum.  Things  which  now  any  young 
girl  can  do  as  freely  as  her  brother,  many  of  the  games 
which  were  considered  strictly  and  exclusively  masculine, 
are  now  open  to  both  sexes  alike,  to  the  manifest  benefit 
of  the  limbs,  muscles,  and  general  development  of  the 
future  mothers  of  the  race. 

But  how  many  years  of  prejudice  have  had  to  be  slowly 
undermined  and  done  away  before  this  good  could  be 
accomplished,  and  how  much  the  unwise  restraint  must 
have  pressed  upon  this  great,  strong,  free  nature,  is  evi- 
denced by  the  fact  that  it  is  the  first  thought  with  which 
she  begins  her  reminiscences  :  "  I  was  born  a  tomboy.  My 
earliest  recollections  are  of  dolls'  heads  ruthlessly  cracked 
open  to  see  what  they  were  thinking  about ;  I  was  pos- 
sessed with  the  idea  that  dolls  could  and  did  think.  I 
had  no  faculty  for  making  dolls'  clothes.  [The  needle 
was  never  a  favorite  implement  with  Charlotte  Cushman 
throughout  her  career.]  But  their  furniture  I  could  make 
skilfully.  I  could  do  anything  with  tools."  This  was  so 
true,  that  it  was  often  said  of  her,  in  after  years,  she  pos- 
sessed the  germs  and  capabilities  of  almost  any  pursuit 
within  her,  and  would  have  been  successful  in  any  direc- 
tion to  which  she  had  turned  her  large  capacity  and  her 
indomitable  will.  "  Climbing  trees,"  she  continues,  "  was 
an  absolute  passion ;  nothing  pleased  me  so  much  as  to 
take  refuge  in  the  top  of  the  tallest  tree  when  affairs 
below  waxed  troubled  or  insecure.  I  was  very  destruc- 
tive to  toys  and  clothes,  tyrannical  to  brothers  and  sister, 
but  very  social  and  a  great  favorite  with  other  children. 
Imitation  was  a  prevailing  trait." 

This  faculty,  which  lay  at  the  foundation  of  all  her 
subsequent  career,  was  so  instinctive  with  her  that  she 
exercised  it  almost  unconsciously,  and  even  in  those  early 
days,  as  the  following  example  will  show :  — 


14  CHARLOTTE  CUSHMAN  : 

"On  one  occasion,  when  Henry  Ware,  pastor  of  the  old' 
Boston  Meeting-House,  was  taking  tea  with  my  mother,  he 
sat  at  table  talking,  with  his  chin  resting  in  his  two  hands, 
and  his  elbows  on  the  table,  I  was  suddenly  startled  by  my 
mother  exclaiming,  '  Charlotte,  take  your  elbows  off  the  table, 
and  your  chin  out  of  your  hands ;  it  is  not  a  pretty  position 
for  a  young  lady!'  I  was  sitting  in  exact  imitation  of  the 
parson,  even  assuming  the  expression 'of  his  face."  * 

Keferring  again  to  this  imitative  faculty,  Charlotte 
says :  — 

"Beside  singing  everything,  I  exercised  my  imitative  powers 
in  all  directions,  and  often  found  myself  instinctively  mimick- 
ing the  tones,  movements,  and  expression  of  those  about  me. 
I  'm  afraid  I  was  what  the  French  call  '  un  enfant  terrible,'  — 
in  the  vernacular,  an  awful  child  !  full  of  irresistible  life  and 
impulsive  will;  living  fully  in  the  present,  looking  neither 
before  nor  after;  as  ready  to  execute  as  to  conceive;  full  of' 
imagination, — a  faculty  too  often  thwarted  and  warped  by 
the  fears  of  parents  and  friends  that  it  means  insincerity  and 
falsehood,  when  it  is  in  reality  but  the  spontaneous  exercise 
of  faculties  as  yet  unknown  even  to  the  possessor,  and  misun- 
derstood by  those  so-called  trainers  of  infancy. 

"  This  imitative  faculty  in  especial  I  inherited  from  my. 
grandmother  Babbit,  born  Mary  Saunders,  of  Gloucester, 
Cape  Ann  ;  afterward  the  wife  of  Erasmus  Babbit,  a  lawyer 
of  Sturbridge,  Massachusetts  ;  through  whom  I  am  connected 
with  Governor  Marcy's  family,  the  Sargents,  the  Winthrops, 
the  Saunders,  and  Saltonstalls  of  Salem,  and  other  well- 
known  families.  My  grandmother's  faculty  of  imitation  was 
very  remarkable.  I  remember  sitting  at  her  feet  on  a  little 
stool  and  hearing  her  sing  a  song  of  the  period,  in  which  she 

*  This  Mr.  "Ware  was  intimate  in  the  family,  and  seems  to  have  exer- 
cised a  powerful  influence  over  Charlotte.  There  is  a  monody,  written 
hy  her  upon  his  death,  which  must  have  been  a  very  early  production, 
and  is  a  very  creditable  one.  Emerson  was  a  colleague  of  Mr.  Ware  in 
his  church,  and  taught  the  Sunday-school  classes. 


HER  LIFE,   LETTERS,  AND  MEMORIES.  15 

delighted  me  by  the  most  perfect  imitation  of  every  creature 
belonging  to  the  farmyard." 

This  especial  gift  of  imitating  the  creatures  Miss 
Cushman  herself  possessed  to  a  remarkable  extent.  She 
could  at  any  time  set  the  table  in  a  roar  by  the  most 
vivid  representation  of  a  hen  pursued  and  finally  caught, 
or  of  the  strange,  weird,  mistrustful  behavior  of  a  parrot. 
This  last  was  inimitable. 

Of  her  grandmother  she  says  :  — 

*'  She  was  also  remarkably  clever,  bright,  and  witty,  and  so 
dominated  her  household  and  children  that,  although  the 
qualities  descended,  her  immediate  family  had  little  oppor- 
tunity to  exercise  them  in  her  presence.  My  mother  was 
this  lady's  only  daughter,  and  I  inherited  from  her  the  voice 
which  was  at  first  so  remarkable  and  which  was  the  origin  of 
my  introduction  to  the  stage.  She  sang  all  the  songs  of  the 
time  with  good  voice  and  taste,  and  I  learned  to  love  music 
in  the  truest  way  at  a  mother's  side. 

"  My  uncle,  Augustus  Babbit,  who  led  a  seafaring  life  and 
was  lost  at  sea,  took  great  interest  in  me ;  he  offered  me  prizes 
for  proficiency  in  my  studies,  especially  music  and  writing. 
He  first  took  me  to  the  theatre  on  one  of  his  return  voyages, 
which  was  always  a  holiday  time  for  me.  My  first  play  was 
*  Coriolanus,'  with  Macready,  and  my  second  *  The  Gamester,' 
with  Cooper  and  Mrs.  Powell  as  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Beverle}^  All 
the  English  actors  and  actresses  of  that  time  were  of  the  Sid- 
dons  and  Kemble  school,  and  I  cannot  but  think  these  early 
impressions  must  have  been  powerful  toward  the  formation 
of  a  style  of  acting  afterward  slowly  eliminated  through  the 
various  stages  of  my  artistic  career. 

"  My  uncle  had  great  taste  and  love  for  the  dramatic  pro- 
fession, and  became  acquainted  with  Mr.  and  Mrs.  William 
Pelby,  for  whom  the  original  Tremont  Theatre  was  built. 
My  uncle  being  one  of  the  stockholders,  through  him  my 
mother  became  acquainted  with  these  people,  and  thus  we 


16  CHARLOTTE  CUSHMAN : 

had  many  opportunities  of  seeing  and  knowing  something  of 
the  fraternity. 

"  About  this  time  I  became  noted  in  school  as  a  reader, 
where  before  I  had  only  been  remarkable  for  my  arithmetic, 
the  medal  for  which  could  never  be  taken  from  me.  I  remem- 
ber on  ono  occasion  reading  a  scene  from  Howard  Payne's 
tragedy  of  "  Brutus,"  in  which  Brutus  speaks,  and  the  imme- 
diate result  was  my  elevation  to  the  head  of  the  class,  to  the 
evident  disgust  of  my  competitors,  who  grumbled  out,  '  No 
wonder  she  can  read,  she  goes  to  the  theatre  ! '  I  had  been 
before  this  very  shy  and  reserved,  not  to  say  stupid,  about 
reading  in  school,  afraid  of  the  sound  of  my  own  voice,  and 
very  unwilling  to  trust  it ;  but  the  gi*eater  familiarity  with 
the  theatre  seemed  suddenly  to  unloose  my  tongue,  and  give 
birth  as  it  were  to  a  faculty  which  has  been  the  ruling  passiou 
ever  since." 

I  may  fittingly  insert  here  portions  of  a  letter  I  have 
received  from  a  friend  of  her  childhood,  which  refers  to 
these  days.     She  says :  — 

**  I  have  only  delayed  answering  your  letter  that  I  might 
obtain  for  you  one  special  word  of  the  beloved  friend,  ad- 
dressed to  my  brother,  which  dwells  in  my  mind  as  a  valuable 
expression  of  hers.  My  brother  tries  as  yet  in  vain  to  find  it; 
but  he  will,  if  you  wish,  gather  up  what  he  may  recall  of  it 
and  send  it  to  you  through  me,  or  not,  as  you  please.  It  was 
some  comment  on  Salvini  and  his  acting  of  Othello  (with  a 
charge  to  us  to  see  him  in  Florence),  and  some  criticism  on 
the  play,  on  the  drama,  and  on  acting  in  general,  with  deduc- 
tions out  of  her  own  experience.  I  remember  how  it  showed 
the  keen  insight  of  her  alert,  original,  sincere  mind,  and  the 
grand  force  of  the  woman  who,  conquering  her  work,  had  freed 
herself  from  the  conventions  and  traditional  judgments  of  the 
stage ;  and  I  think  that,  in  her  private  and  individual  rela- 
tions, her  friends  took  that  same  impression  of  her  as  of  a 
grand  soul  having  conquered  life  and  itself,  so  that  she  might 


HER  LIFE,   LETTERS,  AND   MEMORIES.  17 

fairly  exercise  the  right  to  do  as  she  pleased,  —  to  be  her  own 
gracious,  individual  self.  It  was  that  spontaneity  in  a  woman 
of  the  world  that  held  its  unfailing  charm  over  men  of  the 
world  and  over  multitudes  of  young  women,  which  made  them 
kneel  to  her. 

"I  shall  never  forget  our  first  meeting  after  many  years 
of  absence.  It  followed  the  English  period  of  her  career,  when 
she  had  attained  to  a  world-wide  reputation  and  that  social 
prestige  which  wealth  and  character  cannot  fail  to  command. 
We  sought  her,  and  at  last  met  face  to  face  the  old  school- 
mate. There  was  the  same  uncalculating,  fresh,  frank  face ; 
the  same  merry,  clear  blue  eye,  but  without  the  long,  flow- 
ing, yellow  locks  to  cast  back  in  haste  from  their  obtrusive 
sweep ;  the  same  bold  tread,  now  become  regal.  She  seated 
herself  in  front  of  me,  holding  both  my  hands  in  the  sincere 
grasp  of  hers,  while  she  went  back  over  the  times  when,  as 
she  said,  we  were  boys  together,  albeit  I  had  no  such  pen- 
chant for  a  masculine  masquerade  as  she,  with  the  glory  of 
her  Romeo  behind  her,  might  reasonably  entertain.  She  re- 
called with  the  greatest  zest,  and  laughter  long  and  loud, 
an  earlier  stage  debut  than  the  world  had  seen,  when,  in 
our  school-days,  her  mother,  my  eldest  sister,  and  perhaps 
one  or  two  of  our  neighbors,  made  up  the  audience  to  our 
first  represenation  of  the  operetta  of  Bluebeard,  in  the  large 
attic  chamber  of  her  mother's  house.  This  was  before  the 
days  of  popular  private  theatricals,  and  marks  the  mind  to 
dare  and  do  at  that  early  age.  Fatima  and  Irene  have  gone  to 
their  graves  before  her.  I  was  Abomelique.  She,  with  her 
then  good  voice,  which  afterward  became  such  a  rich  and  won- 
derful contralto,  was  the  lover,  Selim.  Even  now  I  seem  to  hear 
the  cheering  song  of  the  young  soldier,  in  his  white  Turkish 
trousers,  close  jacket,  red  sash,  wooden  scimetar,  and  straight 
red  feather,  which,  if  not  that  of  the  Orient  Turk,  was  of  the 
Western  Continentals,  as,  mounted  on  some  vantage-ground, 
a  chair,  or  wooden  steps  perhaps,  he  bravely  sang  out  loud 

and  clear,  — 

*  Fatima,  Fatima,  Selim 's  here  I ' 


18  CHAELOTTE  CUSHMAN  : 

Then  in  her  mind  and  mine  the  scene  was  shifted,  the  vision 
faded,  and  we  looked  on  through  a  few  years  to  the  trial  scenes 
of  her  musical  training,  her  efforts,  her  discouragements,  still 
holding  her  aims  high  spite  of  all  resistance,  till  the  voice 
broke  and  the  musical  career  was  ended.  Others  have  told 
me  an  incident  belonging  to  those  times.  A  testimonial  con- 
cert or  entertainment  had  been  given  to  *  Old  Father  Mallet,' 
as  he  was  familiarly  known,  who  had  beep^at  some  time  her 
teacher.  It  proved  for  those  days  a  large  and  hearty  demon- 
stration, and  the  old  man  wept  like  a  child  over  it.  The 
heart  of  the  young  girl  was  touched  ;  and  —  the  feet  never  in 
fear  or  shame  afraid  to  follow  the  impulse  of  the  heart  —  she 
went  to  him,  putting  her  hand  on  his  head  as  he  sat,  and 
soothed  and  comforted  him  effectually. 

"  That  she  kept  the  sweet  beneficent  nature  which,  wherever 
her  home  was,  over  all  the  world,  made  for  courtesy  and  kind- 
ness, you  know  better  than  I  do.  Yet  with  all  this  natural 
humaneness,  which  amid  prosperity  and  admiration  is  so  hard 
to  hold,  she  also  kept,  as  it  seemed  to  me  to  her  latest  years, 
her  sweetness  of  temper.  That  she  could  frown  and  look 
dark  as  night  I  doubt  not,  though  I  never  saw  it,  not  even 
on  one  occasion,  which  might  have  justified  some  chagrin, 
when  she  had  been  brought  before  an  irresponsive  because 
mediocre  audience.  As  she  regained  the  anteroom,  the  weary 
fall  of  the  head  on  the  shoulder  of  a  friend,  with  the  exclama- 
tion, '  0,  I  am  dead  and  buried  ! '  betrayed  the  sensitiveness 
of  the  spirit  free  from  all  anger  or  fault-finding. 

"  But  it  is  time  that  I  call  to  mind  this  was  meant  to  be  a 
letter  in  which  I  should  tell  you  I  have  neither  data  nor  any 
continuous  recollection  of  the  beloved  friend  :  I  have  only 
some  notes  of  such  graceful  expression  as  to  charm  me  into 
reading  and  re-reading.  There  is  only  the  continuity  of  love, 
a  line  stretching  under  the  silent  years  when  no  sign  was 
made  ;  brought  up  later  to  the  surface  of  our  lives,  and  flash- 
ing and  irradiating  my  memory,  electrifying  my  heart  at  every 

touch  which  relates  to  her. 

**H.  W." 


HER  LIFE,  LETTERS,  AND  MEMORIES.  19 

To  return  to  Miss  Cusliman's  recollections :  — 

"  Then  came  the  circumstances  in  my  father's  life  which 
made  it  necessary  that  his  children  should  be  placed  under 
conditions  looking  toward  their  future  self-support.  Reverses 
in  business  obliged  us  to  remove  from  Boston  to  Charlestown, 
and  I  was  placed  at  a  public  school. 

"  I  only  remained  at  school  until  I  was  thirteen  years  of 
age  ;  the  necessities  of  the  family  obliged  us  to  take  early 
advantage  of  every  opportunity  for  self-sustainment,  and  my 
remarkable  voice  seemed  to  point  plainly  in  that  direction. 
My  mother,  at  great  self-sacrifice,  gave  me  what  opportunities 
for  instruction  she  could  obtain  for  me,  and  then  my  father's 
friend,  Mr.  R.  D.  Shepherd,  of  Shepherdstown,  Virginia,  gave 
me  two  years  of  the  best  culture  that  could  be  obtained  in 
Boston  at  that  time,  under  John  Paddon,  an  English  organist 
and  teacher  of  singing,  the  principal  teacher  of  his  time. 
This  was  the  foundation  of  my  after  success,  —  or  rather  of 
my  after  opportunity,  —  for  it  put  me  in  the  way  of  it,  and 
even  through  failure  became  the  foundation  of  all  my  success 
in  my  profession. 

"  There  was  at  this  time  in  Boston  a  rather  remarkable 
family  of  the  name  of  Woodward.  The  daughters  of  this 
family  sang  in  all  the  different  Unitarian  churches ;  one  of 
them,  Anne  Woodward,  was  the  soprano  in  Henry  Ware's 
church.  Rebecca,  a  sister,  sang  at  Dr.  Palfrey's,  in  Brattle 
Street ;  and  Dorcas,  another,  afterwards  married  to  George 
Andrews,  the  comedian,  sang  at  Dr.  Pierpont's,  in  Hollis 
Street.  They  were  friends  of  my  mother,  and  through  and 
with  them  I  sang  in  these  various  choirs.  But  before  this, 
and  before  I  had  received  instruction  from  Paddon,  I  should 
mention  that  in  my  mother's  efforts  to  advance  me,  and  pro- 
cure me  musical  advantages,  she  had  gone  to  see  an  old 
acquaintance  of  my  father's,  a  retired  sea-captain,  who  had 
invested  his  savings  in  a  piano-forte  factory,  and  amused  and 
occupied  his  leisure  by  presiding  himself  over  the  establish- 
ment.    His  foreman  was  a  man  by  the  name  of  Chickering, 


20  CHAELOTTE  CUSHMAN  : 

the  founder  of  the  great  business  which  is  now  so  famous  all 
over  the  world. 

"  He  invited  me  to  come  there  to  practise,  and  afterward 
procured  me  instruction  from  a  protegd  of  his  by  the  name  of 
Fauner ;  and  it  was  here  that  I  obtained  my  first  real  knowl- 
edge of  the  science  of  music.  The  name  of  this  good  sea- 
captain  was  John  Mackey,  afterward  of  the  firm  of  Chickering 
and  Mackey,  but  then  associated  with  Mrj^abcock  in  piano- 
forte manufacture. 

*'  When  Mrs.  Wood  came  to  sing  first  in  Boston,  the  thea- 
tres gave  only  five  representations  in  the  week.  They  were 
not  licensed  for  the  Saturday  night,  and  that  evening  was 
usually  devoted  to  concerts.  On  one  of  these  occasions,  a 
piano  being  wanted,  they  came  to  select  one  at  my  practising 
establishment,  and  while  there  inquiries  were  made  for  a 
contralto  singer  to  sing  one  or  two  duets  with  Mrs.  Wood. 
Captain  Mackey,  always  good  and  kind,  spoke  of  me,  and  I 
was  sent  for  to  go  up  to  the  hotel  and  give  a  specimen  of  my 
powers  before  Mrs.  Wood.  The  voice  was  a  very  remarkable 
one  :  it  had  almost  two  registers,  a  full  contralto  and  almost 
a  full  soprano,  but  the  low  voice  was  the  natural  one. 

"  It  was  at  the  Tremont  House.  Mrs.  Wood  received  me 
very  kindly,  and  I  rehearsed  with  her,  *  As  it  fell  upon  a  day.' 
She  seemed  to  be  much  impressed  by  the  voice,  for  she  imme- 
diately sent  up  stairs  to  ask  Mr.  Wood  to  come  down.  He 
came,  and  I  sang  again,  and  at  the  end  of  the  duet  they  both 
seemed  much  pleased,  and  both  assured  me  that  such  a  voice 
properly  cultivated  would  lead  me  to  any  height  of  fortune  I 
coveted.  After  this  first  essay  of  my  voice  Mrs.  W^ood  was 
always  very  kind  to  me,  and  I  became  her  constant  attend- 
ant in  her  walks ;  she  talked  to  me  much  of  the  pity  it  would 
be  to  waste  my  voice  in  mere  teaching,  and  influenced  greatly 
my  determination  to  cultivate  it  for  the  stage." 

The  impression  Charlotte  Cushman  had  made  upon 
Mrs.  Wood  and  the  interest  she  took  in  her  I  find  indi- 
cated in  one  only  letter  from   her,  which  has  by  some 


HER  LIFE,  LETTERS,  AND  MEMORIES.  21 

accident  been  preserved.  It  is  a  yellow,  time-stained 
document,  much  worn  at  the  edges  and  corners,  as  if  its 
youthful  recipient  had  carried  it  long  about  with  her  in 
her  pocket,  which  I  have  no  doubt  she  did ;  for  all  her 
life  long  her  friendships  were  of  the  nature  of  passions, 
and  she  seems  to  have  taken  heartily  and  kindly  to  Mrs. 
Wood.  The  letter  is  not  dated,  that  is,  the  year  is  not 
given,  —  a  very  troublesome  omission  in  most  of  these 
old  letters ;  but  it  must  have  been  in  1835  or  1836. 

"  My  dear  Charlotte  :  Allow  me  in  the  first  place  to  thank 
you  for  your  truly  kind  and  most  welcome  letter,  and  also  to 
offer  you  many  apologies  for  my  delay  in  writing  in  answer 
to  it.  I  have  been  but  poorly  since  I  arrived  in  New  York. 
It  does  not  agree  with  me  so  well  as  dear  Boston.  We  had  a 
most  tedious  voyage,  and  only  arrived  here  on  Monday  morning, 
the  day  on  which  we  were  to  appear  at  the  Park.  The  per- 
formance was  changed,  for  I  was  too  much  fatigued  to  sing. 
On  Wednesday,  however,  we  commenced  our  labors.  Every- 
thing went  off  extremely  well,  but  the  house  was  thin.  On 
Thursday  they  came  out  very  well  to  "Cinderella,"  and  gave 
plenty  of  applause.  I  know  it  will  give  you  pleasure  to  hear 
that  Talma  [the  dog]  is  in  great  health  and  spirits ;  he  be- 
haved himself  in  the  most  discreet  manner  on  board  the  boat, 
and  was  admired  beyond  everything. 

"  I  am  sure,  my  dear  Charlotte,  that  I  need  not  tell  you  how 
I  miss  you,  and  how  happy  I  shall  be  to  see  you  again,  and 
trust  you  will  follow  my  advice  by  practising  steadily,  so  as  to 
be  prepared  for  me  when  that  time  arrives,  as  I  am  most 
anxious  for  your  success.  This,  I  fear,  is  but  a  poor  epistle ; 
but  you  will  excuse  it  when  I  tell  you  that  I  am  a  poor  cor- 
respondent, being  always  so  taken  up  with  my  profession. 
However,  this  you  must  believe,  that  I  am  your  truly  affec- 
tionate  and  sincere  friend,  , ^^^  ^^^^  ^^^^„ 

Below  is  written,  "  Not  one  bouquet  of  flowers  since  I 
came  here  ;  alas  ! "     And  a  faint  memorandum  in  pencil 


22  CHARLOTTE  CUSHMAN : 

on  the  outside  says,  "  Eeceived  the  23d  of  January.  The 
happiest  moment  of  my  life  was  while  reading  this  let- 
ter." 

"After  this  [referring  to  the  first  interview  mentioned 
above]  I  sang  with  Mrs.  Wood  on  two  occasions  at  her  con- 
certs, and  it  was  through  her  influence  that  I  became  an  ar- 
ticled pupil  to  James  G.  Maeder,  who  had^peme  out  with  them 
fi'om  Europe  as  their  musical  director,  afterwards  the  hus- 
band of  Clara  Fisher.  Under  his  instruction  I  made  my  first 
appearance  at  the  Tremont  Theatre  in  the  part  of  the  Coun- 
tess Almaviva,  in  the  '  Marriage  of  Figaro.'  It  was  considered 
a  great  success.  My  second  appearance  was  as  Lucy  Bertram 
in  '  Guy  Mannering.' 

"  With  the  Maeders  I  went  to  New  Orleans,  and  sang  until, 
owing  perhaps  to  my  youth,  to  change  of  climate,  or  to  a  too 
great  strain  upon  the  upper  register  of  my  voice,  which,  as 
his  wife's  voice  was  a  contralto,  it  was  more  to  Mr.  Maeder's 
interest  to  use,  than  the  lower  one,  I  found  my  voice  sud- 
denly failing  me.  In  my  unhappiness  I  went  to  ask  counsel 
and  advice  of  Mr.  Caldwell,  the  manager  of  the  chief  New 
Orleans  theatre.  He  at  once  said  to  me,  '  You  ought  to  be 
an  actress,  and  not  a  singer.'  He  advised  me  to  study  some 
parts,  and  presented  me  to  Mr.  Barton,  the  tragedian  of  the 
theatre,  whom  he  asked  to  hear  me,  and  to  take  an  interest 
in  me. 

"  He  was  very  kind,  as  indeed  they  both  were ;  and  Mr. 
Barton,  after  a  short  time,  was  sufficiently  impressed  with  my 
powers  to  propose  to  Mr.  Caldwell  that  I  should  act  Lady 
Macbeth  to  his  '  Macbeth,'  on  the  occasion  of  his  (Barton's) 
benefit.  Upon  this  it  was  decided  that  I  should  give  up  sing- 
ing and  take  to  acting.  My  contract  with  Mr.  Maeder  was 
annulled,  it  being  the  end  of  the  season.  So  enraptured  was 
I  with  the  idea  of  acting  this  part,  and  so  fearful  of  anything 
preventing  me,  that  I  did  not  tell  the  manager  I  had  no 
dresses,  until  it  was  too  late  for  me  to  be  prevented  from 
acting  it ;  and  the  day  before  the  performance,  after  rehearsal, 


HER  LIFE,  LETTERS,  AND  MEMORIES.  23 

I  told  him.  He  immediately  sat  down  and  wrote  a  note  of 
introduction  for  me  to  the  tragedienne  of  the  French  Theatre, 
which  then  employed  some  of  the  best  among  French  artists 
for  its  company.  This  note  w^as  to  ask  her  to  help  me  to 
costumes  for  the  role  of  Lady  Macbeth.  I  was  a  tall,  thin, 
lanky  girl  at  that  time,  about  five  feet  six  inches  in  height. 
The  Frenchwoman,  Madame  Closel,  was  a  short,  fat  person  of 
not  more  than  four  feet  ten  inches,  her  waist  full  twice  the 
size  of  mine,  with  a  very  large  bust ;  but  her  shape  did  not 
prevent  her  being  a  very  great  actress.  The  ludicrousness  of 
her  clothes  being  made  to  fit  me  struck  her  at  once.  She 
roared  with  laughter ;  but  she  was  very  good-natured,  saw  my 
distress,  and  set  to  work  to  see  how  she  could  help  it.  By  dint 
of  piecing  out  the  skirt  of  one  dress  it  was  made  to  answer  for 
an  underskirt,  and  then  another  dress  was  taken  in  in  every 
direction  to  do  duty  as  an  overdress,  and  so  make  up  the 
costume.  And  thus  I  essayed  for  the  first  time  the  part  of 
Lady  Macbeth,  fortunately  to  the  satisfaction  of  the  audience, 
the  manager,  and  all  the  members  of  the  company." 

It  is  to  be  much  regi^etted  that  we  have  not  any  analy- 
sis by  Charlotte  Cushman  herself  how  far  and  in  what 
way  this  early  conception  of  the  character  of  Lady  Mac- 
beth differed  from  her  more  mature  realization  of  it.  It 
would  be  extremely  interesting.  But  it  is  to  be  doubted 
whether  it  did  differ  materially.  She  grasped  at  once  and 
with  singular  consistency  and  force  the  idea  of  whatever 
she  had  to  represent,  and,  once  seized,  she  identified  her- 
self with  the  conception  in  a  way  to  make  it  unchange- 
ably her  own.  It  has  been  much  dwelt  upon  in  the 
many  short  biographies  and  notices  of  her  which  have 
been  published  from  time  to  time,  that  she  was  a  labo- 
rious student,  and  that  it  was  by  hard  work  she  achieved 
her  great  success  in  her  profession.  To  a  certain  extent, 
so  far  as  untiring  devotion,  love,  and  unity  of  purpose  go, 
this  is  true  ;  but  not  at  all  true  in  the  commonly  accepted 


24  CHARLOTTE  CUSHMAN : 

idea  of  study.  Her  powers  were  wonderfully  instinctive 
and  spontaneous.  She  never  had  to  look  over  an  old 
part,  in  the  sense  of  study,  before  acting  it,  even  after  a 
very  long  interval.  When  it  was  something  entirely  new, 
as,  for  instance,  when  the  scene  in  "  Henry  VIII."  between 
Queen  Katharine  and  the  two  cardinals  was  introduced, 
which  she  had  not  been  in  the  habit  of  acting,  it  became 
necessary  for  her  to  study  it. 

The  method  in  this  instance  was  as  follows  :  A  speech 
would  be  read  over  aloud  to  her,  quite  slowly  and  dis- 
tinctly; then  she  would  repeat  what  she  could  of  it. 
Then  another  reading  and  another  repetition.  The  third 
time  was  generally  enough.  Then  the  next  speech  would 
be  taken  up  in  the  same  way,  and  so  on.  There  was  ap- 
parently no  labor,  and  passages  so  acquired  remained 
stored  up  as  it  were  in  her  mind,  ready,  when  called  for, 
at  a  moment's  notice.  Beyond  the  due  expression  and 
feeling  given  to  the  words,  which  she  could  never  wholly 
omit  even  in  study  or  at  rehearsal,  the  acting  was  left  to 
the  inspiration  of  the  time  and  place. 


CHAPTER   II, 


"  Let 's  carry  with  us  ears  and  eyes  for  the  time, 

And  hearts  for  the  event." 

Coriolanus, 

"If  it  be  now, 
*T  is  not  to  come  ;  if  it  be  not  to  come,  it  mil  be  now  ; 
If  it  be  not  now,  yet  it  will  come ;  the  readiness  is  all." 

ffamlet. 


HIS  successful  performance  of  Lady  Macbeth,  at 
her  age,  was  surely  a  most  noticeable  incident, 
and  a  remarkable  introduction  to  the  stage.  She 
struck  at  once,  with  characteristic  daring,  at  the  very 
heights  of  her  profession;  and  although  circumstances 
and  the  hard  necessities  of  life  afterwards  compelled  her 
to  take  lower  paths  and  climb  upward  painfully,  yet  she 
struck  here  the  keynote  of  her  possibilities,  and  knew  to 
what  she  must  ultimately  attain.  Friends  will  remem- 
ber, who  have  heard  her  tell  of  the  difficulties  she  sur- 
mounted to  reach  that  place  from  which  in  her  thoughts 
and  dreams  she  never  afterwards  descended,  which  was  to 
her  the  goal  of  all  her  ambitions.  Her  circumstances  were 
no  doubt  poor  enough.  She  had  no  place  for  study,  and 
she  used  to  resort  to  the  garret  of  the  house  she  boarded 
in,  and  sit  there  on  the  floor,  committing  to  memory  the 
parts  to  which  she  aspired  and  dreaming  out  the  meth- 
ods of  their  realization.  One  can  well  imagine  how  the 
impetus  of  this  remarkable  success,  following  upon  the 


26  CHARLOTTE  CUSHMAN  : 

"bitter  disappointment  in  her  voice,  carried  back  the  debu- 
tante with  renewed  hope  and  energy  toward  home  again. 

"  The  season  being  at  an  end,"  she  resumes,  ''I  took  pas- 
sage in  a  saihng-vessel  for  Philadelphia  on  my  way  to  New 
York.  In  those  days  travelliDg  was  a  very  different  and  much 
more  tedious  affair  than  it  is  now.  Arrive^  in  New  York,  I 
addressed  a  note  to  Mr.  Simpson,  manager  of  the  Park  Thea- 
tre, asking  him  for  an  engagement.  He  offered  me  a  trial. 
While  debating  upon  this,  which  seemed  to  my  young  imagi- 
nation a  great  slight,  coming  fresh  from  my  triumph  in  Lady 
Macbeth,  I  received  a  call  one  day  from  Mr.  Thomas  Hamblin, 
manager  of  the  Bowery  Theatre,  then  a  very  successful  man. 
He  was  very  kind ;  he  said  that  his  friend,  Mr.  Barton,  had 
arrived  from  New  Orleans,  and  had  told  him  a  great  deal 
about  me ;  he  should  very  much  like  to  see  me  rehearse,  and 
assured  me  if  it  was  like  what  his  friend  had  informed  him  of, 
he  would  make  as  great  a  success  for  me  as  he  had  done  for 
another  actress,  a  Miss  Vincent,  who  was  a  great  favorite. 

*'  This,  of  course,  fired  my  imagination  and  soothed  the 
feelings  which  Mr.  Simpson  had  wounded  by  asking  me  to 
act  on  trial.  I  was  then  too  much  of  a  child  to  understand 
the  advantage  of  having  even  an  inferior  place  at  the  Park 
Theatre,  where  there  was  at  that  time  an  excellent  school  for 
acting  in  a  famous  company,  over  a  first-class  position  in  a 
second-class  theatre.  So  I  acceded  to  Mr.  Hamblin's  wish. 
He  heard  me  rehearse  scenes  from  Lady  Macbeth,  Jane  Shore, 
Belvidera,  Mrs.  Haller,  etc.,  expressed  himself  satisfied,  and 
entered  into  a  contract  with  me  for  a  three  years'  engage- 
ment, at  a  salary  to  increase  ten  dollars  a  week  each  year, 
commencing  at  twenty -five  dollars. 

*'I  had  no  wardrobe  for  these  characters,  and  it  was  decided 
my  engagement  should  commence  as  soon  as  these  could  be 
prepared.  Not  having  the  means  to  procure  this  wardrobe, 
Mr.  Hamblin  arranged  for  me,  with  people  from  whom  he 
bought  goods  for  his  theatre,  that  I  should  be  supplied  with 


HER  LIFE,  LETTERS,  AND  MEMORIES.  27 

•whatever  was  necessary.  He  would  become  responsible  for 
the  debt,  and  deduct  five  dollars  a  week  from  my  salary  to 
meet  it.  Seeing  thus  an  independence  before  me,  I  hastened 
at  once  to  relieve  my  mother  from  her  position  in  Boston, 
where  she  was  keeping  a  boarding-house,  which,  with  four 
children  to  support,  may  be  imagined  had  not  been  very  prof- 
itable. She  made  all  her  arrangements,  broke  up  her  house, 
and  came  to  me.  I  got  a  situation  for  my  eldest  brother  in 
a  store  in  New  York.  I  left  my  only  sister  in  charge  of  a 
half-sister  in  Boston,  and  took  my  youngest  brother  with  me. 

"  One  week  before  the  engagement  for  which  I  was  announced 
in  New  York,  I  was  one  day  suddenly  seized  with  chills  and 
fever,  caused  by  getting  overheated  in  a  walk  at  Harlem.  For 
three  weeks  I  was  very  seriously  ill  with  rheumatic  fever, 
which  finally  succumbed  to  what  was  then  a  novelty  in  New 
York,  —  medicated  vapor  baths.  One  week  after  the  first  appli- 
cation of  this  I  was  acting.  But  three  weeks  of  the  four 
which  had  been  devoted  to  the  commencement  of  my  first 
engagement  were  exhausted,  and  other  novelties  to  be  pro- 
duced at  a  particular  date  left  me  only  one  week  to  make  my 
New  York  impression,  for  I  was  to  act  but  four  weeks  in  New 
York,  and  then  be  sent  elsewhere.  Weak  as  I  was  from  my 
illness,  that  impression  might  very  easily  have  been  impaired ; 
but  I  succeeded  beyond  my  expectations  and  those  of  my 
manager.  During  that  week  I  acted  Lady  Macbeth  (to  Mr. 
Hamblin's  "  Macbeth,")  Jane  Shore,  and  Mrs.  Haller.  But  the 
reaction  from  this  first  week  was  naturally  very  great.  I  was 
again  in  bed  from  excessive  weakness.  My  wardrobe,  which 
I  felt  did  not  properly  belong  to  me  until  I  had  paid  for  it,  I 
left  in  the  theatre  until  such  time  as  I  should  again  need  it. 
The  piece  produced  the  week  after  mine  was  "  Lafitte,"  and  on 
the  first  or  second  night  of  it  the  Bowery  Theatre  was  burned 
to  the  ground,  with  all  my  wardrobe,  all  my  debt  upon  it,  and 
my  three  years'  contract  ending  in  smoke ! 

**  In  my  miserable  position,  with  all  the  dependants  then 
upon  me,  I  sent  for  the  manager  of  a  little  theatre  called  the 


28  CHARLOTTE  CUSHMAN  : 

Chatham  in  New  York,  and  also  of  the  principal  theatre  in 
Albany,  conducted  at  that  time  by  Mr.  W.  R.  Blake  as  stage 
manager.  I  asked  him  for  an  engagement  in  Albany,  where 
I  could  at  the  same  time  get  practice  and  be  sufficiently  near 
to  New  York  that  if  an  opening  came  I  might  take  advan- 
tage of  it. 

"  He  gave  me  an  engagement  for  five  weefe^  to  which  I  pro- 
ceeded immediately,  accompanied  by  my  mother  and  younger 
brother,  which  latter  I  placed  at  school.  During  this  en- 
gagement I  became  a  great  favorite.  At  the  hotel  where  we 
lived  there  also  boarded  a  number  of  the  members  of  the 
State  Senate  and  House  of  Representatives.  I  became  ac- 
quainted with  many  of  them,  who  were  very  kind  to  me. 
It  became  known  that  Governor  Marcy  was  a  cousin  of  my 
mother.  He  was  a  man  held  in  high  estimation,  and  this 
fact  may  have  bettered  my  position  socially,  though  he  was 
then  Senator  at  Washington.  It  had  been  jokingly  remarked 
often  that  more  of  the  members  of  both  houses  could  be 
found  at  my  benefit  than  at  the  Capitol. 

"  There  I  remained  five  months,  acting  all  the  principal 
characters,  at  the  end  of  which  time  I  lost  my  young  brother 
by  a  sad  accident,  which  event  made  a  very  serious  mark 
upon  my  life;  most  of  the  enthusiasm  and  ambition,  which 
had  been  a  most  marked  trait,  seemed  suddenly  checked.  I 
had  less  to  work  for,  and  I  determined  then,  that,  knowing 
very  little  of  my  art  as  art,  I  would  seek  to  place  myself  in  a 
position  where  I  could  learn  it  thoroughly.  I  became  aware 
that  one  could  never  sail  a  ship  by  entering  at  the  cabin  win- 
dows; he  must  serve,  and  learn  his  trade  before  the  mast. 
This  was  the  way  that  I  would  henceforth  learn  mine." 

The  young  brotber,  of  whom  mention  has  been  made 
above,  whose  sudden  loss  affected  her  so  deeply,  seems  to 
have  been  very  dear  to  her,  and  some  school-boy  letters 
of  his  which  have  been  preserved  show  that  the  affection 
was  mutual.     The  letters  are  carefully  dated,  which   is 


HER  LIFE,  LETTERS,  AND  MEMORIES.  29 

more  than  old  heads  did  in  those  days.  They  begin,  "My 
darling  sister  " ;  sometimes  "  darling "  is  not  enough,  and 
he  puts  "  Dear,  darling  sister,"  and  there  is  frankness  and 
manliness  in  the  tone  of  them  and  in  the  large,  bold 
school-boy  hand.  "  Tell  Charley  to  come  and  see  me,"  he 
says,  "  tell  Susy  to  come  too,  and  you  come,  and  mother, 
then  there  will  be  a  good  load  of  you  " ;  and  in  another, 
"  0,  how  I  wish  I  could  see  you  before  you  go  to  New 
York.  Do  come  up.  I  hope  Charley  will  come,  I  am  so 
anxious  to  see  him ;  bless  his  old  heart ! "  It  is  clear  that 
he  is  of  her  kind,  and  possessed  also  the  love  principle 
largely  developed.  Among  the  papers  is  one  wherein  he 
is  showing  his  penmanship  by  striking  off,  in  grand  style, 
the  names  of  all  the  different  members  of  the  family ;  an 
extra  amount  of  flourish  and  grander  style  attests  the 
value  he  sets  upon  the  name  of  the  beloved  sister.  Sal- 
lie  Mercer,  Miss  Cushman's  faithful  maid,  bears  witness 
to  her  high  estimate  of  this  young  brother,  and  the  hopes 
she  cherished  for  his  future  career.  He  gave  promise  of 
genius  of  a  high  order,  and  his  death  was  a  blow  from 
which  she  never  quite  recovered.  He  was  killed  by  a 
fall  from  a  horse  she  had  given  him.  The  jacket  he  wore 
at  the  time  was  always  preserved,  and  went  with  them 
from  place  to  place  through  all  her  wanderings. 

After  this  event  she  wrote  to  Mr.  Simpson  of  the  Park 
Theatre,  New  York,  asking  him  for  any  opening  there 
might  be ;  and  the  position  of  "  walking  lady,"  vacated  by 
the  secession  of  the  pretty  Mrs.  Garner,  and  "general 
utility  business "  was  offered  her  at  twenty  dollars  a 
week. 

"  During  the  summer  of  that  year,"  she  resumes,  "  I  made 
a  little  excursion  to  Buffalo  and  Detroit,  on  a  starring  engage- 
ment. There,  at  the  house  of  the  then  Governor  of  Michigan, 
Stephen  Y.  Mason,  I  became  acquainted  with  Captain  Mar- 


30  CHAELOTTE  CUSHMAN  : 

ryatt,  the  author,  whose  friendship  I  enjoyed  from  that  time 
for  the  remainder  of  his  life.  Returning  to  New  York,  in 
due  time  I  commenced  my  engagement  at  the  Park  Thea- 
tre, which  lasted  for  three  years,  —  from  September,  1837,  to 
June,  1840." 

Of  this  time  there  are  but  scanty  records,  and  scarcely 
any  letters  have  been  preserved.  "VYe-  only  know  that  it 
was  a  time  of  hard  work,  of  ceaseless  activity,  and  of 
hard-w^on  and  scantily  accorded  appreciation.  From  a 
very  poor  publication,  called  "  Eecords  of  the  New  York 
Stage,"  I  find  notes  of  her  various  performances,  wherein 
one  is  most  struck  by  the  uncommon  versatility  of  her 
powers,  and  the  continual  alternation  all  along  the  scale 
of  character, 

"  From  grave  to  gay,  from  lively  to  severe." 

These  were  the  days  of  intense  study  and  hard  practice, 
when  it  was  the  custom  of  the  theatres  to  change  the 
plays  every  night ;  to  think  that  the  public  must  have 
perpetual  novelty ;  when  two  plays,  often  three,  were 
given  on  the  same  evening,  and  long  runs  were  unknown. 
But  these  trying  days  afterwards  bore  excellent  fruit,  and 
culminated  in  the  finished  artist. 

From  a  remarkably  well-written  letter  by  a  stranger, 
an  Englishman,  which  I  find  in  a  Boston  paper  of  the 
year  1863,  this  time  is  thus  alluded  to  :  — 

"I  saw  Charlotte  Cushman  act  in  Boston  for  her  benefit 
a  short  time  before  her  first  departure  for  Europe.  The 
audience  was  not  generously  large ;  indeed,  I  might  say  it 
was  ungenerously  small,  and  not  a  few  in  it  were  foreigners. 
This  was  not  as  it  should  be.  Macready  had  a  succession 
of  crowded  audiences,  and  in  private  life  he  was  welcomed, 
feasted,  and  feted.  Miss  Cushman  supported  him  brilliantly, 
loyally,  sympathetically,  and  thus  contributed  much  to  his 


HER  LIFE,  LETTERS,  AND  MEMORIES.  31 

eminent  success.  He  acted  to  the  last  available  hour,  and 
the  morning  of  the  date  which  was  appointed  for  Miss  Cush- 
man's  benefit  he  sailed  for  England.  There  may  have  been 
inevitable  reasons  for  this,  which  may  have  justified  it  to 
Miss  Cushman  herself;  but  upon  her  friends  it  left  a  very 
unpleasant  impression.  Miss  Cushman  belonged  to  Boston 
by  birth,  kindred,  education ;  and  Boston  should  have  bidden 
her  Godspeed  in  *  a  bumper.'  But  we  have  changed  all  that, 
and  Boston  has  often  made  ample  amends  for  this  casual 
neglect  of  her  native  artist.  I  could  not  help  feeling  the 
contrast  the  other  evening  between  'now  and  then.'" 

The  letter  is  written  on  the  occasion  of  Miss  Cushman^s 
performance  in  Boston  for  the  benefit  of  the  Sanitary 
Commission,  for  which  purpose  she  had  come  all  the  way 
from  Eome.  If  there  were  space,  I  should  like  to  make 
longer  extracts  from  this  letter ;  but  this  particular  passage 
I  cannot  omit.  Speaking  of  the  impression  she  made  on 
him  when  he  first  saw  her,  which  was  many  years  before 
at  the  Park  Theatre,  the  writer  says  :  — 

"  In  one  of  my  evening  rambles  about  the  city  I  found 
myself  passing  the  Park  Theatre,  and  I  was  moved  to  go  in. 
There  was  little,  I  confess,  in  outward  appearance  that  was 
cheerful  or  exciting.  The  scenery  was  poor,  tawdry,  and  in- 
appropriate, the  lights  were  dim,  and  the  audience  not  large. 
The  play  was  *  Othello,'  and  on  the  whole  the  performance 
was  spiritless.  In  the  part  of  Emilia  I  saw  a  large-sized,  fair- 
complexioned  young  woman,  not  of  handsome,  but  of  impres- 
sive presence.  The  effect  of  her  denunciation  of  the  Moor 
after  the  murder  of  Desdemona  was  electric.  The  few  lines 
of  high  passion  which  the  part  contains,  by  the  power  with 
which  the  actress  delivered  them,  made  the  part,  insignificant 
though  it  is,  the  leading  one  on  that  occasion.  By  looking 
at  the  bill  I  found  the  name  of  this  actress  was  Charlotte 
Cushman.     She  was  rapturously  applauded,  and  this  was  the 


32  CHARLOTTE  CUSHMAN  : 

only  hearty  applause  that  was  given  during  the  evening.  I 
knew  that  there  was  no  ordinary  artist  in  this  then  compara- 
tively unknown  young  woman.  I  saw  her  next  in  Lady 
Macbeth,  and  my  conviction  was  only  the  more  confirmed  by 
this  terrible  test  of  any  genius.  I  went  away  filled  with  ad- 
miration, resolved  to  see  this  powerful  actress  as  often  as  I 
should  have  the  opportunity.  I  then  foresaw  her  fame,  and 
time  has  justified  my  prophecy.  I  sawder  frequently  after- 
ward, when  she  played  with  Mr.  Macready,  and  even  with  this 
great  and  cultivated  artist  she  held  her  own.  She  had  not 
had  his  experience,  but  she  had  genius.  There  were  times 
when  she  more  than  rivalled  him ;  when  in  truth  she  made 
him  play  second.  I  observed  this  in  New  York,  and  a  critic 
in  the  Times  bore  witness  to  it  in  London.  I  have  seen  her 
throw  such  energy,  physical  and  mental,  into  her  performance, 
as  to  weaken  for  the  time  the  impression  of  Mr.  Macready's 
magnificent  acting.  She  profited  no  doubt  by  his  admirable 
ability  and  veteran  experience,  but  she  nevertheless  always 
preserved  her  own  independence  and  thorough  individuality. 

"  Sometimes  the  intensity  with  which  her  acting  affected  me 
also  vexed  me.  *  The  Stranger '  and  '  Fazio  '  are  both  plays 
that  I  could  never  see  for  their  own  sakes ;  but  I  have  been 
so  moved  by  Miss  Cushman's  Mrs.  Haller  and  Bianca,  that  I 
have  gone  home  ill  from  the  effect  of  the  acting.  I  was 
unutterably  ashamed  of  myself,  to  be  so  prostrated  by  compo- 
sitions of  such  spasmodic  melodrama  and  such  maudlin  sen- 
timentalism ;  but  the  artist  created  the  tragedy  in  her  own 
person,  and  that  which  was  frigid  in  the  book  became  pa- 
thetic in  the  woman.  The  same  was  the  case  with  Mrs. 
Siddons ;  some  of  her  most  overpowering  acting  was  in  very 
inferior  plays." 

From  a  note  to  her  mother,  dated  "  New  York,"  I  glean 
the  following  reference  to  her  first  performance  at  the 
Park  Theatre  with  Mr.  Macready.  "  In  great  haste  I 
write  only  a  few  words,  with  a  promise  to  write  again  to- 


HER  LIFE,  LETTERS,  AND  MEMORIES.  33 

night  after  the  play,  and  tell  you  all  particulars  of  my  great 
and  triumphant  success  of  last  night,  of  my  reception,  of 
being  called  out  after  the  play,  and  hats  and  handker- 
chiefs waved  to  me,  flowers  sent  to  me,  etc." 

In  the  winter  of  1842  she  undertook  the  management 
of  the  Walnut  Street  Theatre,  Philadelphia,  at  that  time 
much  run  down,  and  it  was  lifted  from  its  low  condition 
by  her  spirited  and  clever  management.  She  was  a  great 
favorite,  and  the  theatre  recovered  its  popularity.  Among 
the  company  we  find  the  names  of  Chippendale,  Freder- 
icks, Wheatley,  Alexina  Fisher,  the  three  sisters  Vallee,  — 
one  of  them  afterwards  Mrs.  De  Bar,  —  her  sister  Susan 
Cushman,  etc.  She  was  herself,  of  course,  the  leading 
personage  of  the  theatre,  and  acted  all  her  at  that  time 
immense  repertoire.  With  characteristic  decision,  how- 
ever, she  did  not  hesitate,  when  Mr.  Macready  came,  and 
she  saw  the  opportunity  for  study  and  improvement  in 
his  company,  to  give  up  her  position  of  management  for 
the  purpose  of  acting  with  him,  and  underwent  the  enor- 
mous fatigue  of  acting  alternate  nights  between  New  York 
and  Philadelphia  for  the  term  of  his  engagement  in  New 
York. 

During  the  year  1842  there  are  letters  passing  between 
her  and  Dr.  Lardner,  who  was  then  on  a  lecturing  tour  in 
the  United  States,  on  the  subject  of  the  proper  lighting  and 
ventilating  of  the  theatre,  showing  a  thoughtfulness  on 
these  subjects  at  that  early  time  most  striking  and  un- 
usual. He  is  evidently  full  of  appreciation  of  her  ability 
and  capacity,  and  avails  himself  of  it  thankfully  with 
reference  to  his  own  affairs  in  the  country. 

I  find  also  letters  under  this  date  from  Mr.  Colley 
Grattan,  British  Consul  at  Boston,  an  early  and  warm 
friend,  who  afterwards  furnished  her  with  letters  of  intro- 
duction to  England.     One  of  these  letters  alludes  to  the 


34  CHARLOTTE  CUSHMAN : 

play  of  "  The-Bear  Hunter,"  which  is  probably  his  play, 
and  which  Miss  Cushman  had  produced  at  her  theatre. 
He  says,  "I  would  give  much  to  see  you  look  Aline,  though 
there  is  nothing  in  the  words  of  the  part  worthy  of  you." 

Another  letter  from  him  alludes  to  some  cloud  of  dis- 
couragement which  seems  to  have  passed  over  her,  and 
he  says :  "  You  talk  of  quitting  the  proDession  in  a  year. 
I  expect  to  see  you  stand  very  high  indeed  in  it  by  that 
time.  You  must  neither  write  nor  think  nor  speak  in 
the  mood  that  beset  you  three  days  ago.  I  have  no 
doubt  the  cloud  has  passed  over,  and  that  the  fine  sun- 
shine and  bracing  air  of  this  very  day  are  warming  and 
animating  you  to  the  '  top  of  your  bent.'  (I  wanted  two 
or  three  words  to  finish  the  sentence,  and  as  usual  found 
them  in  Shakespeare.) " 

Again  he  says,  in  reference  to  the  same  letter :  "  Are 
you  not  yourself  tinged  perhaps  by  the  sensitiveness  (to 
give  it  no  harsher  name,  which  is,  after  all,  the  true  one) 
so  common  to  the  profession  ?  Beware,  not  of  jealousy, 
for  I  am  sure  you  are  above  its  reach,  but  of  over-anxiety 
to  please  those  whom  the  ardor  of  your  temperament  leads 
you  to  overestimate." 

These  are  marvellously  true  words,  and  show  deep  in- 
sight into  character.  All  her  life  long  Charlotte  Cush- 
man suffered  from  this  *'  ardent  anxiety,"  her  warm,  true 
heart  prompting  always  her  active,  impetuous  tempera- 
ment to  acts  of  kindness,  not  always  estimated  at  their 
true  value.  There  are  people  so  coldly  constituted  that 
they  shut  themselves  up  against  demonstration,  as  if  it 
were  something  false,  something  to  be  guarded  against, 
and  the  warm  glow  which  emanates  from  an  earnest, 
loving  nature  beats  upon  them  in  vain.  The  worse  for 
them!  The  coldness  which  they  summon  up  to  repel 
the  angels  of  this  life  strikes  inward,  and  dulls  all  that 


HER  LIFE,  LETTERS,  AND   MEMORIES.  35 

is  "best  worth  having  in  this  life  and  in  that  which  comes 
after. 

In  another  letter  of  this  period  Mr.  Grattan  says  :  — 
"  I  am  sincerely  glad  you  have  made  up  your  mind  to  go  to 
England  next  summer.  It  must  do  you  infinite  good  if  you 
go  there  in  a  mood  of  true  philosophy,  not  expecting  too 
much,  and  resolved  not  to  be  discouraged  if  things  fall  short 
of  your  hopes.  Remember  that  this  country  must  be  the 
field  of  your  permanent  exertions.  England  will  be  only  a 
training-ground,  where  you  cannot  avoid  learning  much  that 
will  be  valuable  to  you.  I  hope  we  shall  have  plenty  of  time 
to  talk  the  whole  matter  over  and  over.  As  to  the  offer  from 
the  London  Theatre  you  speak  of,  you  must  consider  it  well 
before  you  make  any  pledge  that  would  be  binding.  Be  very 
cautious  in  writing.  I  would  by  all  means  advise  your  play- 
ing first  in  Liverpool,  Manchester,  and  perhaps  in  Dublin.  It 
would  accustom  you  to  John  Bull  and  Paddy  Bull  audiences, 
and  give  you  confidence  in  yourself.* 

"  There  is  very  much  on  this  subject  which  I  shall  be 
anxious  to  say  to  you.  I  feel  a  deep  anxiety  for  your  welfare. 
I  hope  you  will  continue  to  dream  'horrid  dreams  about  me,' 
as  long  as  they  go  by  contrairies.  But  let  your  waking 
thoughts  be  sure  to  remind  you  of  me  as  I  am.  . 

"  Faithfully  and  cordially  your  friend." 
In  another  letter,  writing  from  Boston,  he  says :  — 
"  The  theatre  has  been  very  well  attended  here.  Mr.  Van- 
denhoff  is  greatly  admired.  I  wish  to  God  you  were  not 
tied  to  your  own  stage.  But  I  am  rejoiced  to  hear  on  all 
hands  how  well  you  are  doing,  and  that  you  and  your  sister 
are  such  favorites  in  Philadelphia.  I  hope  I  may  be  able  to 
go  and  see  you  in  the  early  part  of  next  year.  Pray  write  to 
me  soon  and  fully  about  your  prosperity,  for  that  is  what  I 
like  to  hear  of.     Believe  me,  as  I  know  you  do,' 

"  Yours  with  great  truth  and  regard." 

*  Mr.  Grattan  must  have  been  astonished  at  the  manner  in  which  she 
took  both  of  these  bulls  by  the  horns. 


36  CHARLOTTE  CUSHMAN  : 

It  is  to  be  deeply  regretted  that  Miss  Cusliman's  own 
letters,  to  which  these  are  answers,  have  not  been  pre- 
served ;  in  every  step  of  this  undertaking  I  have  reason 
to  deplore  the  want  of  foresight  which  has  permitted  such 
wholesale  destruction  of  these  valuable  letters. 

From  later  notes,  under  date  London,  1859,  which  I 
may  as  well  insert  here,  to  preserve  ttie- sequence  of  this 
correspondence,  I  find  the  following,  referring  to  the  death 
of  her  sister  Susan :  — 

"  I  cannot  resist  the  wish  to  write  you  a  few  lines,  not 
merely  because  it  is  usual  from  true  and  cordial  friendship  on 
such  occasions,  but  because  I  do  think  you  will  be  pleased  to 
know  that  I  am  always  deeply  interested  in  whatever  concerns 
you,  and  anxious  you  should  know  also  that  neither  time  nor 
absence  nor  distance,  those  fatal  foes  to  intimate  communica- 
tion, can  alter  my  long  and  faithful  affection.  I  am  deeply 
grieved  at  the  loss  you  now  suffer  under,  and  very,  very  sorry 
on  my  own  account.  I  greatly  admired  and  esteemed  your 
sister.  I  heard  the  sad  news  even  before  the  papers  had 
announced  it,  from  your  most  worthy  and  attached   friends, 

the  B s.      This  sad  loss,  so  unexpected   and   so  severe, 

must  draw  closer  to  you  all  to  whom  you  have  been  attached 
by  ties  of  family  affection,  or  by  the  sympathy  of  friendship. 
It  is  well  that  you  have  so  many  duties  to  perform,  such  a 
warm  heart  and  clear  head  to  sustain  you  under  such  a  heavy 
trial." 

Eeferring  to  his  book  on  America,  he  says :  — 

"  One  word  about  my  book,  to  which  you  allude.  I  quite 
forgot  its  existence  when  I  was  writing  to  you.  I  know  there 
is  no  one  who  would  more  cordially  testify  to  much  of  its 
truth  than  you  would.  But  still,  you  are  American,  with  a 
keen  sense  of  national  feeling,  as  you  ought  to  be,  and  there 
are  pictures  in  it  that  might  not  please  you ;  so  I  should  pre- 
fer your  being  content  with  the  extracts  sent  you,  without 


HER  LIFE,  LETTERS,  AND  MEMORIES.  37 

risking  the  possibility  of  disapproving  the  work  and  blaming 
the  author  and  your  true  friend,  «« rp  q  q  . 

It  was  about  this  time  that  Miss  Cushman's  well-known 
maid,  Sallie,  became  a  part  of  her  family,  —  I  might  well 
say  a  part  of  herself,  for  she  always  called  her  "her  right 
hand."  Any  memorial  would  be  incomplete  which  would 
leave  out  the  friend  and  companion  of  all  her  wanderings, 
the  sharer  of  her  trials  and  her  triumphs,  the  good,  de- 
voted, faithful  Sallie  Mercer.  She  came  into  these  close 
relations  with  her  mistress  very  early,  when  she  was  but 
fourteen  years  of  age.  Miss  Cushman  was  struck  by  her 
serious,  steady  ways,  her  anxious  forehead,  but  especially 
by  her  eyebrows ;  she  believed  in  what  she  called  "  con- 
scientious eyebrows,"  and  Sallie's  were  so  peculiar  in  that 
way,  that  one  of  our  merry  habituees  in  Rome  used  to 
say,  "  I  am  always  in  expectation  of  seeing  Sallie's  eye- 
brows go  over  the  top  of  her  head."  There  was  some 
difficulty  in  taking  her  away  from  her  mother,  who  also 
had  her  ideas  of  the  child's  value ;  but  it  was  one  of  the 
things  fated  to  be,  and  so  was  finally  accomplished.  From 
that  time  the  two  were  never  separated,  except  for  the 
necessity  or  pleasure  of  Miss  Cushman.  SaUie  never  had 
any  will,  any  love,  any  desire,  apart  from  her  and  her 
interests.  Perhaps  there  never  has  been  a  more  perfect 
instance  of  absolute  devotion  on  the  one  side,  and  appre- 
ciation and  trust  on  the  other,  than  this  association  pre- 
sented. 

With  all  this  entire  self-abnegation,  Sallie  was  by  no 
means  wanting  in  character;  she  had  a  really  superior 
administrative  faculty,  an  unceasing,  loving  conscientious- 
ness in  all  her  duties,  which  no  temptation  ever  biased. 
Temptation,  indeed  !  Sallie  did  not  know  the  word  and 
its  power ;  to  her  there  was  but  one  law,  duty,  —  duty  in 


38  CHARLOTTE  CUSHMAN : 

all  her  relations,  but  first  and  chiefest  her  duty  to  "  Miss 
Charlotte."  Wherever  she  was,  duty  had  to  be  the  su- 
preme law,  and  she  was  rigid  and  inexorable  against  all 
the  little  relaxations  and  loose-endednesses  which  make 
of  service  in  our  day  so  much  of  a  lip  and  eye  contract. 
She,  like  her  mistress,  always  exercised  a  sort  of  natural 
supremacy.  In  her  department  she  feigned,  and  it  was 
edifying  to  hear  her  address  the  other  servants,  often 
much  older  than  herself,  as  "  my  child." 

Sallie's  "  good  sense  "  also  was  conspicuous ;  her  rule, 
though  rigid,  was  just  and  kindly ;  true  as  steel  to  her 
class,  she  never,  though  much  noticed  and  highly  esteemed 
by  all  Miss  Cushman's  friends,  was  known  to  overstep 
the  boundary  of  her  position.  Add  to  this  that  she 
had  excellent  tastes,  loved  reading,  and  always  carried 
about  with  her  her  favorite  books.  Her  memory  was  a 
distinguishing  attribute ;  she  knew  all  Miss  Cushman's 
parts  so  well,  that  she  could  act  the  part  of  prompter 
upon  occasion.  Miss  Cushman  tells  of  an  instance  when, 
through  some  most  unusual  cause,  for  a  moment  the  words 
of  her  part  failed  her ;  they  were  gone  as  if  they  had  never 
been.  The  prompter,  seldom  needed  by  her,  was  off  his 
post.  Moving  across  the  scene  to  cover  her  momentary 
perplexity,  her  eye  fell  on  Sallie  at  the  side  scene,  who, 
comprehending  the  situation  at  once,  supplied  the  missing 
link,  and  she  went  on. 

Sallie  was  the  only  "  dresser  "  she  ever  had ;  the  guar- 
dian and  custodian  of  all  her  theatrical  properties.  She 
knew,  to  a  pin,  whatever  was  necessary  to  each  costume, 
and,  no  matter  how  many  were  the  changes,  nothing  was 
ever  missing.  Long  experience  had  made  the  routine  ab- 
solutely perfect,  relieving  her  mistress  of  all  care  upon  the 
subject.  Afterwards,  when  the  pressure  of  slow-wearing 
disease  came,  what  tongue  or  pen  could  ever  do  justice 


HER  LIFE,  LETTERS,  AND  MEMORIES.  39 

to  the  unfailing,  untiring  travail  of  heart  and  hand  in  the 
service  of  the  beloved  and  worshipped  mistress ! 

In  travelling,  also,  Sallie  was  invaluable.  She  was  in 
all  respects  a  skilful  courier,  and  those  who  were  so  happy 
as  to  journey  under  her  convoy  and  that  of  Miss  Cush- 
man  never  knew  the  inconveniences  and  annoyances  so 
apt  to  beset  travellers.  But  Sallie  had  a  universal  genius  : 
in  travelling,  she  was  courier ;  when  resting,  she  was  maid, 
nurse,  purveyor,  general  providence;  when  settled  down 
for  a  season,  she  was  housekeeper ;  always  the  one  who 
knew  where  everything  was,  who  kept  a  watchful  eye 
over  alL  The  Italian  servants  looked  upon  her  as  a  sort 
of  Deus  ex  machina,  and  believed  in  her  powers  and  re- 
sources with  an  almost  superstitious  trust.  Her  store- 
closet  was  supposed  to  contain  inexhaustible  treasures ; 
nothing  could  be  asked  for  in  the  house,  but  the  answer 
was  sure  to  be,  "Cui  dentro,"  —  in  here,  —  pointing  to 
Sallie's  closet,  which  at  last  came  to  be  called  "cui 
dentro"  by  all  the  house.  As  my  object  is  to  give  as 
nearly  as  possible  a  picture  of  Miss  Cushman's  life  and 
surroundings  under  all  their  varied  aspects,  I  make  no 
apology  for  giving  place  to  this  sketch  of  her  favorite' 
servant. 

On  October  26,  1844,  she  sailed  for  England  in  the 
packet-ship  Garrick.  Her  finances,  when  she  made  up  her 
.mind  to  try  this  English  venture,  were  not  very  flourishing. 
As  we  have  seen,  her  last  benefit  in  Boston  did  not  help 
her  much.  She  was  obliged  to  make  arrangements  for  the 
maintenance  of  her  family  during  her  absence,  and  with 
characteristic  prudence  she  took  care  that  a  sufficient  sum 
should  be  left  intact  to  enable  her  to  return  home  in  case 
of  failure.  It  will  be  seen  she  did  not  "  burn  her  ships." 
A  short  pencil  diary  kept  on  board  ship,  and  which  was 
the  last  effort  of  the  kind  she  ever  made,  —  for  her  life  in 


40  CHAELOTTE  CUSHMAN : 

England  very  soon  became  too  full  to  allow  the  time  for 
any  such  expression,  —  shows  that  with  all  her  courage 
and  decision  there  were  also  feelings  of  deep  despondency 
at  the  bottom  of  her  heart ;  doubts  and  fears  which  only 
herself  knew  about,  and  the  expression  of  which  in  these 
pencillings  gives  a  touching  clew  to  what  must  have  been 
her  early  struggles  in  England  before  she  achieved  her 
recognition. 

"  How  little,"  she  writes,  "  do  we  estimate  our  good  gifts  of 
fortune  till  we  are  deprived  of  them  !  And  this,  though  worn 
out  and  stale  as  a  proverb,  comes  upon  me  with  full  force  at 
this  time.  When  desponding,  I  repent  that  I  have  left  my 
home.  I  reproach  myself  that  I  was  not  content  with  mod- 
erate competency,  while  in  its  enjoyment,  but  must  thrust 
myself  out  from  the  delight  which  I  was  permitted  to  enjoy, 
for  this  miserable,  frightful  uncertainty,  this  lingering  doubt, 
which  at  last  may  lead  to  disappointment." 

She  contrasts  the  sea  voyage  of  1844  with  that  of  1836, 
and  says,  of  the  two,  that  of  1844  will  remain  much  longer 
and  more  strongly  impressed  upon  her  memory.  "  I  am 
eight  years  older,"  she  says,  "  than  when  I  went  to  sea 
last ;  and  while  I  have  my  senses,  I  think  I  will  never 
go  again  after  I  once  more  return  to  my  own  land."  She 
became  so  familiar  with  the  sea  in  after  years,  that  she 
crossed  the  Atlantic  upwards  of  sixteen  times. 

But  the  voyage  passes,  as  all  disagreeable  things  do,  with 
days  of  misery  and  discouragement,  fast  yielding  toward 
the  last  to  better  influences  as  health  returns  and  the 
mercurial,  hopeful  temperament  gets  the  mastery;  but 
there  is  much  more  looking  back  than  forward.  The  ties 
of  family  and  friendship  —  always  strong  as  death  with 
Charlotte  Cushman  —  draw  her  powerfully  backward,  and 
the  diary  is  full  of  the  tenderest  thoughts  and  fancies  over 


HER  LIFE,  LETTERS,  AND  MEMORIES.  41 

the  dear  ones  left  behind.  She  finds  friends  on  board, 
however,  who  were  afterwards  tried  and  true  to  the  last 
If  ever  any  one  had  a  specialty  for  making  and  keeping 
friends,  she  had  ;  the  friends  of  her  early  days  were  those 
of  her  later  years,  and  nothing  but  their  own  unworthi- 
ness  ever  lost  them  a  place  once  won  in  her  regard.  This 
does  not  mean  that  her  nature  was  facile  in  accepting 
friends  or  intimates.  She  had  a  keen  insight  into  the 
basis  of  character,  and  was  not  deceived  by  the  glitter  of 
false  metal.  Although  her  profession,  by  bringing  her  into 
contact  with  all  sorts  of  people,  obliged  her  to  associate 
with  them  for  a  time,  no  unworthy  soul  ever  made  a  lodge- 
ment. When  the  time  came,  they  were  as  inevitably  shed 
off  from  her  as  muddy  water  glides  over  without  soiling 
the  snowy  plumage  of  the  swan.  So  it  was  with  regard 
to  mere  conventional  standards  in  her  estimate  of  people. 
Her  range  of  sympathy  covered  the  highest  and  the  low- 
est alike,  and  both  alike  found  no  difference  in  the  sweet 
and  gracious  character  of  her  reception  of  them  ;  and  al- 
though she  estimated  at  its  full  value  the  greatness  of 
eminent  station  and  of  intellectual  and  artistic  achieve- 
ment, and  knew  how  to  give  honor  where  honor  was  due, 
yet  she  had  a  still  warmer  corner  in  her  large  heart  for 
the  unobtrusive  merit  of  genuine  worth,  even  when  it 
came  to  her  in  the  humblest  guise. 

She  alludes  to  one  of  the  friends  made  on  board  the 
Garrick  as  a  very  religious  person,  of  the  Presbyterian 
persuasion,  and  mentions  a  remark  made  by  her  of 
w^hich  she  says,  "  I  am  uncertain  whether  she  means  it 
as  a  compliment,  but  she  says  she  thought  that  people  in 
my  profession  were  very  different  from  what  she  finds  me 
to  be."  This  suggests  another  reflection  with  regard  to  her, 
which  is,  that  no  one  ever  seemed  to  feel  any  antagonism 
with  her  on  religious  subjects ;  she  was  always  sincerely 


42  CHARLOTTE  CUSHMAN  : 

religious  without  cant  or  pretension,  and  she  had  a  rever- 
ent sympathy  for  all  forms  of  belief,  which  enabled  her 
to  worship  as  devoutly  under  the  dome  of  a  Koman 
Catholic  cathedral  as  in  the  simplest  and  barest  of  tab- 
ernacles. In  either,  her  grand,  earnest  voice  would  roll  out 
its  sincere  cadences  with  entire  and  absolute  faith  that 
it  is  out  of  the  heart  of  the  worshippers,  and  not  through 
the  form  of  the  worship,  that  the  acceptable  incense  rises 
up  to  the  Father  of  us  alL  The  grand  simplicity  of  her  na- 
ture was  nowhere  shown  more  fully  than  in  this ;  she  could 
meet  all  professors  alike  on  their  own  ground,  where  there 
was  sincerity  of  conviction,  and  never  failed  to  interest 
and  attract  them. 

To  return  to  the  voyage.  As  the  days  pass  on,  the 
natural  reaction  of  her  active,  energetic  spirit  towards  the 
future  rather  than  the  past  takes  place,  and  we  find  re- 
flections as  to  the  possibility  of  a  longer  stay  than  the  six 
months  she  had  laid  out  for  herself.  "  If  I  act,"  she  says, 
"  I  will  not  go  home  until  I  succeed  as  they  would  have 
me.  Longer  than  I  have  promised  myself  will  seem  an 
age,  but  I  must  have  patience." 

On  Saturday,  15th,  they  sighted  land.     She  says  :  — 

"  I  look  upon  it  with  such  different  feelings  from  the  other 
passengers.  I  would  freely  give  up  the  privilege  of  stepping 
upon  this  terra  incognita,  if  I  could  turn  round  and  go  straight 
back  again.  At  home  in  three  weeks  !  Instead  of  joy,  a  feel- 
ing of  profound  sadness  presses  upon  my  heart,  and  1  find  my- 
self unconsciously  shedding  tears  at  my  lonely  situation.  I 
am  indeed  a  stranger,  and  I  feel  it.  My  only  hope  can  be 
that  I  may  not  long  feel  it  so.  If  I  do,  it  will  break  my  heart. 
The  morning  is  thick  and  miserable,  and  as  we  get  nearer  the 
land  the  fog  is  more  dense.  The  English  on  board  are  smack- 
ing their  lips  as  if  they  recognized  the  taste  of  their  own 
native  air,  off  here  three  hundred  miles  from  their  homes.     I 


HER  LIFE,  LETTERS,  AND  MEMORIES.  43 

can  well  understand  the  feeling,  for  if  I  were  within  one  thou- 
sand miles  of  Philadelphia,  I  am  sure  I  should  imagine  I  could 
scent  Philadelphia  air.  They  tell  me  this  is  a  fair  specimen 
of  English  weather.  Good  heavens !  what  a  state  of  density 
to  live  in  !  '* 

On  another  page  of  the  diary  I  find  copied  the  well- 
known  passage  from  Longfellow's  "  Hyperion  "  :  — 

"  Look  not  mournfully  into  the  past ;  it  comes  not  back 
again.  Wisely  improve  the  present,  it  is  thine.  Go  forth 
into  the  shadowy  future,  without  fear,  and  with  a  manly 
heart." 

And  these  lines  from  Browning's  "  Paracelsus,"  which 
seem  to  throw  a  vivid  light  upon  the  workings  of  her 
mind  at  that  time  : — 

*'  What  though 
It  be  so  ?  —  if  indeed  the  strong  desire 
Eclipse  the  aim  in  me  ?  —  if  splendor  break 
Upon  the  outset  of  my  path  alone, 
And  duskest  shade  succeed  ?    What  fairer  seal 
Shall  I  require  to  my  authentic  mission 
Than  this  fierce  energy  ?  —  this  instinct  striving 
Because  its  nature  is  to  strive  ?  —  enticed 
By  the  security  of  no  broad  course. 
With  no  success  forever  in  its  eyes  ! 
How  know  I  else  such  glorious  fate  my  own, 
But  in  the  restless,  irresistible  force 
That  works  within  me  ?    Is  it  for  human  will 
To  institute  such  impulses  —  still  less 
To  disregard  their  promptings  ?    What  should  I 
Do,  kept  among  you  all ;  your  loves,  your  cares, 
Your  life,  —  all  to  be  mine  ?     Be  sure  that  God 
Ne'er  dooms  to  waste  the  strength  he  deigns  impart  ! 
Ask  the  gier-eagle  why  she  stoops  at  once 
Into  the  vast  and  unexplored  abyss ; 
What  full-grown  power  informs  her  from  the  first, 
Why  she  not  marvels,  strenuously  beating 
The  silent,  boundless  regions  of  the  sky  !  " 


44  CHARLOTTE  CUSHMAN : 

The  passage,  — 

"  Be  sure  that  God 
Ne'er  dooms  to  waste  the  strength  he  deigns  impart ! " 

was  always  a  favorite  quotation  with  her. 

The  vessel  arrived  in  Liverpool  Monday,  November  18, 
1844  After  a  week's  rest  she  went  with  the  fellow- 
passengers  mentioned  above  on  a  short  exettrsion  into 
Scotland.  In  a  letter  written  after  her  return  she  refers 
to  this  trip. 

"  Having  so  agreeable  an  opportunity  to  go  with  these  kind 
friends,  I  thought  in  case  anything  happened  that  I  should 
not  go  to  Scotland  to  act,  it  would  be  a  pity  to  take  such  a 
long  voyage  and  see  nothing  of  Edinburgh  ;  so  I  e'en  started, 
and  have  been  through  Scotland  and  seen  everything  worth 
seeing.  My  letters  of  introduction  took  me  among  the  most 
delightful  people  I  ever  met  in  my  life.  They  treated  me 
like  a  princess." 

It  may  not  be  inappropriate  to  note  here  how  wise 
and  judicious  this  movement  was.  The  journey  into 
Scotland,  though  it  might  seem  something  of  an  extrava- 
gance to  one  who  was  obliged  then  to  count  every  penny, 
was  yet  the  most  sensible  thing  she  could  do,  to  obtain 
a  proper  reaction  after  the  long  and  dreary  voyage,  and 
the  deep  depression  which  had  overwhelmed  her  in  part- 
ing with  her  family  and  launching  herself  alone  upon  the 
world.  It  took  her  through  the  most  charming  parts 
of  England  and  brought  her  into  contact  with  kindly  and 
appreciative  people,  who  were  not  slow  to  discover  the 
unusual  quality  and  promise  of  their  visitor.  Beside 
restoring  the  tone  of  her  mind,  it  aided  in  the  restoration 
of  her  health,  and  prepared  her  to  meet  the  arduous  labors 
which  were  before  her.  Afterwards  it  was  extremely 
characteristic  that,  instead  of  sitting  down  and  eating  her 
own  heart  in  suspense  and  anxiety  in  her  dull  lodgings 


HER  LIFE,  LETTERS,  AND  MEMORIES.  45 

in  Covent  Garden,  she  boldly  dashed  over  to  Paris,  and 
for  ten  days  put  herself  in  the  way  of  seeing  all  that 
the  French  stage  could  offer  of  best  and  most  finished  in 
her  profession,  —  a  great  treat  to  her,  no  doubt,  and  one 
which,  ^coming  upon  the  fresh  soil  of  her  mind,  made  an 
ineffaceable  and  powerful  impression. 

On  her  first  arrival  in  England  she  had  found  a  letter 
awaiting  her  from  Mr.  Macready,  proposing  to  her  to  act 
with  a  company  which  was  being  organized  in  Paris,  of 
which  himself  and  Miss  Faucit  formed  a  part.  She  tells 
in  another  place  how  she  came  to  reject  this  proposition. 
In  Paris  she  was  again  approached  on  the  subject.  Some 
misunderstanding  had  arisen  between  Miss  Faucit  and  the 
management,  and  they  came  to  Miss  Cushman  to  see  if 
she  would  be  willing  to  step  into  the  vacant  place.  She 
conceived  the  idea  at  once  that,  by  establishing  so  early  in 
her  career  anything  like  a  rivalry  with  the  —  at  that  time 
—  favorite  actress  of  England,  she  might  possibly  preju- 
dice her  chances  in  that  country.  Suddenly  making  up 
her  mind  to  place  herself  out  of  reach  of  influence  or  temp- 
tation by  a  judicious  retreat,  she  returned  to  London,  and 
there  in  her  humble  lodgings  awaited  her  destiny.  Of 
this  time  of  suspense  and  anxiety,  before  her  great  suc- 
cess, Miss  Cushman  was  fond  of  talking  in  after  years. 
She  was  never  ashamed  of  her  struggles  or  her  poverty, 
and  would  tell  with  a  certain  pride,  as  contrasting  with 
the  position  she  afterwards  achieved  for  herself,  of  her 
straitened  housekeeping,  and  with  no  little  amusement 
of  Sallie's  careful  economies,  and  how  they  both  rejoiced 
over  an  invitation  to  dinner,  of  which  before  long  she  had 
abundance  and  to  spare.  Sallie  says,  "Miss  Cushman 
lived  on  a  mutton-chop  a  day,  and  I  always  bought  the 
baker's  dozen  of  muffins  for  the  sake  of  the  extra  one, 
and  we  ate  them  all,  no  matter  how  stale  they  were;  and 


46  CHARLOTTE  CUSHMAN  : 

we  never  suffered  from  want  of  appetite  in  those  days." 
Sallie  always  said  those  early  days  were  the  happiest 
they  had. 

Meantime  she  was  active  and  busy,  taking  what  steps 
she  could  toward  obtaining  the  much-desired  opportunity, 
not  easy  to  secure  upon  her  own  conditions,  unheralded 
and  comparatively  unknown  as  she  was,  and  hedged  about 
by  untold  difficulties  and  rivalries  and  vexations. 

In  the  midst  of  it  all  she  never  abated  one  jot  of  her 
determination  to  take  a  high  place  or  none,  not  even 
when  she  found  herself  reduced  to  her  last  sovereign,  as 
she  was  when  Maddox,  the  manager  of  the  Princess 
Theatre,  at  last  came  to  her.  He  was  reported  by  the 
watchful  Sallie  as  walking  up  and  down  the  street,  early 
one  morning,  too  early  for  a  visit.  "  He  is  anxious,"  said 
Miss  Cushman ;  "  I  can  make  my  own  terms."  And  so 
it  proved.  He  wanted  her  to  act  with  Forrest,  then  about 
to  make  his  debut  before  a  London  audience.  She  was 
not  willing  to  appear  first  in  a  secondary  part,  and  stipu- 
lated that  she  should  have  her  opportunity  first  and  alone 
then,  if  she  succeeded  she  would  be  willing  to  act  with 
Forrest.  So  it  was  settled ;  she  made  her  impression,  and 
carried  her  point.  This  was  the  turning-point  in  her 
career, — "The  tide  which  taken  at  the  flood  leads  on  to 
fortune."  It  was  not  money  she  sought,  but  recognition  ; 
and  she  entered  upon  her  first  London  engagement,  for  a 
limited  number  of  nights,  at  seven  pounds  a  night. 


CHAPTER   III. 

'*  Nothing  becomes  him  ill. 
That  he  would  well." 

Love's  Labor  Lost 

"You  have  deserved 
High  commendation,  true  applause,  and  love. 
As  You  Like  It. 


FTER  much  difficulty  in  procuring  a  suitable 
person  to  act  with  her,  she  made  her  first  ap- 
pearance as  Bianca  in  Milman's  tragedy  of 
"  Fazio,"  February  14,  1845. 

From  letters  to  her  mother,  written  immediately  after 
her  arrival  in  England,  I  make  the  following  extracts.  In 
describing  her  voyage,  she  mentions  this  incident :  — 

"On  the  morning  of  the  8th  I  came  near  being  washed 
overboard.  I  was  sitting  on  deck  during  the  squalls,  holding 
on  by  the  back  of  the  settee,  when  a  squall  struck  us,  and 
washed  seat  and  me  and  two  sailors  entirely  over  to  the  other 
side  of  the  ship,  and  but  for  the  roUing  up  of  that  side  we 
should  have  gone  over.  I  never  was  so  frightened  in  my 
life,  nor,  even  when  overboard  off  Long  Wharf,  more  wet.  I 
thought  for  a  moment  that  I  was  indeed  gone.  However, 
fortune  favors  the  brave,  and  I  was  picked  up  the  most  drip- 
ping young  woman  you  ever  saw I  found,  on  arriv- 
ing at  the  hotel,  that  Macready  had  sent  down  from  London 
three  times  to  see  if  I  had  arrived.  I  have  in  all  about 
seventy  letters  of  introduction,  and  I  suppose  I  may  make 
some  friends  j  but,  as  it  is,  I  feel  most  miserable  and  lonely." 


48  CHARLOTTE  CUSHMAN : 

Another  letter,  under  date  December  2d,  refers  to  lier 
excursion  into  Scotland,  and  adds  :  — 

"  By  the  by,  did  I  tell  you  Macready  had  written  to  me, 
and  there  was  a  letter  awaiting  me  on  my  arrival,  telling  me 
he  wanted  me  to  come  to  Paris  1  I  hardly  knew  what  to  do, 
but  wrote  to  Barton,  who  advised  me  ;  so  I  sent  word  /  cotdd 
not  come.  He  wrote  back ;  got  annoyed.  I  replied ;  Sud  last 
Saturday  I  received  a  letter  quite  ill-tempered,  saying  I  was 
taking  an  irrevocable  step.  On  Sunday  morning  down  came 
a  gentleman  from  London  to  persuade  me;  but  'while  the 
father  softened  the  governor  was  fixed,'  and  he  went  back  to 
London." 

A  letter  of  March  2d,  1845,  speaks  of  her  great  success 
in  London  with  justifiable  exultation. 

"  By  the  packet  of  the  10th  I  wrote  you  a  few  lines  and 
sent  a  lot  of  newspapers,  which  could  tell  you  in  so  much 
better  language  than  I  could  of  my  brilliant  and  triumphant 
success  in  London.  I  can  say  no  more  to  you  than  this  :  that 
it  is  far,  far  beyond  my  most  sanguine  expectations.  In  my 
most  ambitious  moments  I  never  dreamed  of  the  success  which 
has  awaited  me  and  crowned  every  effort  I  have  made.  To 
you  I  should  not  hesitate  to  tell  all  my  grief  and  all  my 
failure  if  it  had  been  such,  for  no  one  could  have  felt  more 
with  me  and  for  me.  Why,  then,  should  I  hesitate  (unless 
through  a  fear  that  I  might  seem  egotistical)  to  tell  you  all  my 
triumphs,  all  my  success  1  Suffice  it,  all  my  successes  put 
together  since  I  have  been  upon  the  stage  would  not  come  near 
my  success  in  London ;  and  I  only  wanted  some  one  of  you 
here  to  enjoy  it  with  me,  to  make  it  complete." 

In  the  next  letter,  dated  March  28th,  we  see  she  is 
reaping  the  full  measure  of  her  success,  not  only  publicly, 
but  socially. 

"  I  have  been  so  crowded  with  company,"  she  says,  "  since 
I  have  acted,  that  upon  my  word  and  honor  I  am  almost  sick 


HER   LIFE,   LETTERS,   AND   MEMORIES.  49 

of  it.  Invitations  pour  in  for  every  night  that  I  do  not  act, 
and  all  the  day  I  have  a  steady  stream  of  callers ;  so  that  it 
has  become  among  my  more  particular  friends  a  joke  that  I 
am  never  with  less  than  six  people  in  the  room ;  and  I  am  so 
tired  when  it  comes  time  for  me  to  go  to  the  theatre  that 
Sallie  has  to  hold  my  cup  of  tea  for  me  to  drink  it. 

"  It  seems  almost  exaggerated,  this  account ;  but  indeed 
you  would  laugh  if  you  could  see  the  way  in  which  I  am  be- 
sieged, and  if  you  could  see  the  heaps  of  complimentary  letters 
and  notes  you  would  be  amused.  All  this,  as  you  may  imag- 
ine, reconciles  me  more  to  England,  and  now  I  think  I  might 
be  willing  to  stay  longer.  If  my  family  were  only  with  me,  I 
think  I  could  be  content.  Sergeant  Talfourd  has  promised  to 
write  a  play  for  me  by  next  year.  I  have  played  Bianca  four 
times,  Emilia  twice.  Lady  Macbeth  six  times,  Mrs.  Haller  five, 
and  Rosalind  five,  in  five  weeks.  I  am  sitting  to  five  artists. 
So  you  may  see  I  am  very  busy.  I  hesitate  to  write  even  to 
you  the  agreeable  and  complimentary  things  that  are  said  and 
done  to  me  here,  for  it  looks  monstrously  like  boasting.  I 
like  you  to  know  it,  but  I  hate  to  tell  it  to  you  myself." 

A  friend  writes  under  date  of  May  12,  1845  :  — 

"  I  found  Charlotte  looking  well,  but  complaining  of  fatigue ; 
she  is  surrounded  by  friends  who  seem  to  consider  her  the 
heau  ideal  of  everything  that  is  great.  Sergeant  Talfourd  yes- 
terday, in  pleading  a  case  for  Mr.  Maddox,  took  occasion  to 
eulogize  her  in  the  most  extraordinary  manner,  called  her 
the  second  Siddons,  etc.,  and  praised  her  to  the  skies,  when 
it  was  totally  uncalled  for.  It  is  really  unprecedented.  The 
papers  continue  to  speak  of  her  in  the  most  extreme  terms  of 
praise,  and  for  the  present  she  is  the  greatest  creature  in  the 
greatest  city  in  the  civilized  world  ! " 

She  had  made  engagements  in  Liverpool,  Birmingham, 
Manchester,  Edinburgh,  and  Dublin,  but  had  to  give  them 
up  because  she  could  not  get  away  from  London. 


50  CHARLOTTE  CUSHMAN : 

Under  date  of  May  1  she  writes  :  — 

"I  have  just  returned  from  the  theatre,  after  acting  the 
new  play  for  the  second  time.*  It  has  not  succeeded ;  but  my 
word  was  pledged  to  do  it,  and  I  have  kept  my  word.  It  may, 
perhaps,  do  me  some  little  injury,  but  I  can  afford  a  trifle, 
and  my  next  play  will  bring  me  up.  I  am  tired ;  I  have 
acted  four  times  this  week,  and  I  act  to-morrow  night  ageeiti. 
Everything  goes  on  finely;  I  am  doing  well,  and  I  hope 
my  star  may  continue  in  the  ascendant.  I  have  given  myself 
Jive  years  more,  and  I  think  at  the  end  of  that  time  I  will  have 
$  50,000  to  retire  upon ;  that  will,  if  well  invested,  give  us  a 
comfortable  home  for  the  rest  of  our  lives,  and  a  quiet  comer 
in  some  respectable  graveyard." 

A  letter  of  May  18,  1845,  is,  I  grieve  to  say,  the  last 
of  this  series,  as  her  mother  and  family  joined  her  shortly 
after.     In  it  she  says :  — 

"  This  brings  you  good  news.  My  manager  will  not  give 
me  up  at  the  end  of  my  engagement,  but  insists  on  my  going 
on.  The  houses  continue  very  fine,  and  the  people  are  more 
and  more  pleased.  The  idea  of  acting  an  engagement  of 
forty-seven  nights  in  seven  old  plays,  and  being  called  out 
every  night,  then  to  have  one's  engagement  renewed  for 
thirty  nights  more,  is  a  thing  that  would  astonish  the  natives 
on  the  side  of  the  world  you  inhabit  now,  but  which  I  hope 
won't  hold  you  long.  I  assure  you  I  have  reason  to  be  more 
than  proud,  not  only  of  my  success,  but  of  the  very  kind  man- 
ner I  am  treated  in  private.  In  fact,  I  have  no  moment  to 
myself;  and  really  when  I  want  to  write  I  have  to  deny  my- 
self to  my  friends,  and  a  constant  round  of  invitations  pursues 
me  for  all  the  time  I  can  command." 

Of  the  ordinary  newspaper  notices  of  this  period  a 
very  few  extracts  will  suffice ;  and  it  would  almost  seem 

*  This  was  a  play  by  Mr.  James  Kenny,  called  "  Infatuation." 


HER  LIFE,   LETTERS,  AND  MEMORIES.  51 

superfluous  to  give  place  to  them  here,  if  they  were  not 
history,  and  as  such  not  to  be  entirely  disregarded. 

Of  Miss  Cushman's  first  appearance  in  London  in  the 
tragedy  of  "  Fazio  "  the  Times  says  :  — 

"The  great  characteristics  of  Miss  Cushman  are  her  ear- 
nestness, her  intensity,  her  quick  apprehension  of  *  read- 
ings,* her  power  to  dart  from  emotion  to  emotion  with  the 
greatest  rapidity,  as  if  carried  on  by  impulse  alone.  The 
early  part  of  the  play  affords  an  audience  no  criterion  of  what 
an  actress  can  do ;  but  from  the  instant  where  she  suspects 
that  her  husband's  affections  are  wavering,  and  with  a  flash 
of  horrible  enlightenment  exclaims,  *  Fazio,  thou  hast  seen 
Aldobella  1 '  Miss  Cushman's  career  was  certain.  The  variety 
which  she  threw  into  the  dialogue  with  her  husband  —  from 
jealousy  dropping  back  into  tenderness,  from  hate  passing  to 
love,  while  she  gave  an  equal  intensity  to  each  successive 
passion,  as  if  her  whole  soul  were  for  the  moment  absorbed 
in  that  only  —  was  astonishing,  and  yet  she  always  seemed  to 
feel  as  if  she  had  not  done  enough.  Her  utterance  was  more 
and  more  earnest,  more  and  more  rapid,  as  if  she  hoped  the 
very  force  of  the  words  would  give  her  an  impetus.  The 
crowning  effort  was  the  supplication  to  Aldobella,  when  the 
wife,  falling  on  her  knees,  makes  the  greatest  sacrifice  of  her 
pride  to  save  the  man  she  has  destroyed.  Nothing  could  ex- 
ceed the  determination  with  which,  lifting  her  clasped  hands, 
she  urged  her  suit,  —  making  offer  after  offer  to  her  proud 
rival,  as  if  she  could  not  give  too  much,  and  feared  to  reflect 
on  the  value  of  her  concessions,  —  till  at  last,  repelled  by  the 
cold  marchioness,  and  exhausted  by  her  own  passion,  she 
sank  huddled  into  a  heap  at  her  feet.  Of  the  whole  after 
part  of  the  drama,  which  was  distinguished  throughout  by 
a  sustained  energy,  this  was  her  great  triumph.  We  need 
hardly  say  that  Miss  Cushman  is  likely  to  prove  a  great  ac- 
quisition to  the  London  stage.  For  passion,  real,  impetuous 
irresistible  passion,  she  has  not  at  present  her  superior.     At 


52  CHARLOTTE   CUSHMAN  : 

the  end  of  the  play  Miss  Cushman,  who  had  acted  throughout 
with  the  greatest  applause,  came  forward  and  was  received 
with  showers  of  bouquets ;  never  were  bouquets  more  richly 
merited." 

The  allusion  in  this  article  to  the  grand  culmination 
of  the  scene  with  Aldobella,  when  she  sinks  in  a  brdcen 
heap  at  her  feet,  will  remind  many  friends  of  Miss  Cush- 
man's  own  description  of  the  incident :  how  she  was  so 
completely  overcome  and  prostrated,  not  only  by  the  pas- 
sion of  the  scene,  but  by  the  nervous  agitation  of  the 
occasion,  that  she  could  not  for  a  time  recover  possession 
of  herself,  and  the  thunders  of  applause  which  burst  out 
and  continued  cheer  upon  cheer  were  more  than  wel- 
come, as  giving  her  a  moment's  breathing-space.  When 
at  last  she  rose  up  and  slowly  regained  her  feet,  the 
scene  she  beheld  was  one  she  could  never  after  forget,  or 
fail  to  recall  without  the  same  thrill  of  excitement.  The 
audience  were  standing,  some  on  the  benches,  waving 
hats  and  handkerchiefs ;  and,  as  the  Times  says,  "  Miss 
Cushman's  career  was  certain." 

Of  the  same  occasion  the  London  Sun  says :  — 

"  Since  the  memorable  first  appearance  of  Edmund  Kean 
in  1814,  never  has  there  been  such  a  debut  on  the  boards  of 
an  English  theatre.  She  is,  without  exception,  the  very  first 
actress  that  we  have.  True,  we  have  ladylike,  accomplished, 
finished  artists ;  but  there  is  a  wide  and  impassable  gulf 
between  them  and  Miss  Cushman,  — the  gulf  which  divides 
talent,  even  of  the  very  highest  order,  from  genius.  That 
godlike  gift  is  Miss  Cushman's,  strictly  speaking.  We  know 
that  it  is  usual  on  these,  occasions  to  enter  into  a  critical 
notice  of  the  various  beauties  developed  by  a  debutante ;  but 
were  we  to  attempt  this,  our  space  would  be,  in  the  first  place, 
too  limited,  for  we  should  have  to  transcribe  nearly  the  whole 
part ;  and,  in  the  next  place,  we  will  fairly  acknowledge  that 


HER  LIFE,  LETTERS,  AND  MEMORIES.  53 

we  were  so  completely  carried  away  by  the  transcendent  genius 
of  this  gifted  lady  that,  after  the  magnificent  scene  in  the  sec- 
ond act,  we  could  not  criticise,  we  could  only  admire." 

From  the  London  Herald  of  the  same  date  we  have 
the  following :  — 

"  Miss  Cushman  is  tall  and  commanding,  having  a  fine  stage 
figure.  The  expression  of  her  face  is  curious,  reminding  us  of 
Macready,  —  a  suggestion  still  further  strengthened  by  the 
tones  of  her  voice,  and  frequently  by  her  mode  of  speech.  But 
that  is  nothing ;  she  soon  proved  that  she  was  a  great  artist 
on  her  own  account;  that  she  not  only  possessed  peculiar 
sensitiveness,  but  that  she  had  all  the  tact  and  efficiency  re- 
sulting from  experience.  Her  energy  never  degenerated  into 
bombast,  and  rarely  was  she  artificial.  There  are  several 
situations  in  the  tragedy  requiring  the  most  consummate  skill 
on  the  part  of  the  actress  to  render  them  fully  effective,  and 
she  achieved  at  each  successive  point  a  fresh  triumph.  Her 
tenderness  is  beautifully  energetic  and  impassioned,  while  her 
violence,  such  as  when  the  sentiment  of  jealousy  suddenly 
crosses  her,  is  broad  and  overwhelming,  but  at  the  same  time 
not  overdone.  Miss  Cushman  is  altogether  a  highly  accom- 
plished actress,  and  it  may  be  easily  foreseen  that  her  career 
in  this  country  will  be  a  most  brilliant  one." 

The  versatility  of  Miss  Cushman's  powers  was  next 
shown  to  the  world  of  London  by  her  assumption  of  the 
part  of  Rosalind.  There  are,  however,  many  and  most 
favorable  notices  of  her  Lady  Macbeth,  which  I  do  not 
quote  because  her  country-people  know  so  well  all  her 
excellences  in  that  part  they  can  learn  nothing  new  about 
it.  In  Eosalind  she  seems  to  have  given  unbounded 
satisfaction.  From  many  enthusiastic  tributes,  I  select 
the  following :  — 

"  On  Thursday  night  Miss  Cushman  gave  us  the  first  oppor- 
tunity of  seeing  her  in  a  Shakespearian  character, — the  sweet, 


54  CHARLOTTE   CUSHMAN : 

merry,  mocking,  deep-feeling,  true,  loving  Rosalind,  whose 
heart  and  head  are  continually  playing  at  cross  purposes ; 
whose  wit  is  as  quick  to  scout  and  scoff  at  the  tender  passion 
as  her  heart  is  ready  to  receive  it,  who  flies  from  tenderness  to 
taunting,  and  back  again,  as  quickly  as  a  bird  from  bough  to 
bough  ',  who  puts  on  her  wit  as  she  does  her  boy's  dress,  as  a 
defence  against  an  enemy  she  knows  to  be  too  strong  for  her. 
Whilst  under  her  womanly  guise  the  Rosalind  of  Miss  Cushman 
was  a  high-bred  though  most  gentle  and  sweet-tempered  lady, 
with  the  mirthful  spirit  which  nature  had  given  to  her  saddened 
by  the  misfortunes  of  herself  and  father.  But,  with  the  indig- 
nant reply  which  she  makes  to  the  duke  her  uncle,  on  being 
banished  as  a  traitor,  this  phase  of  her  character  disappears. 
No  sooner  is  the  plan  of  flight  conceived  and  resolved  upon, 

and  the  words  uttered,  — 

•  Were  it  not  better, 
Because  that  I  am  more  than  common  tall, 
That  I  did  suit  me  all  points  like  a  man  ? ' 

than  all  sadder  thoughts  disappear,  to  make  room  for  the  over- 
flowing spirits  of  the  woman.  Love  itself  is  put  as  a  mark  to 
be  shot  at  by  wit ;  or  rather  it  is  love  that  arms  wit  against 
itself,  and  gives  it  all  its  point. 

**  But  we  hear  some  one  say,  '  You  are  speaking  of  Rosalind, 
instead  of  the  lady  who  enacted  the  part  on  Thursday  night.' 
We  beg  to  say  it  is  one  and  the  same  thing.  If  ever  we 
looked  upon,  heard,  conceived  Rosalind,  it  was  upon  that 
occasion.  If  ever  we  listened  to  the  playful  wit,  the  sweet 
mocking,  the  merry  laugh  of  Rosalind,  if  ever  we  saw  her 
graceful  form,  her  merry  eye,  her  arched  brows,  her  changing 
looks,  it  was  then  and  there.  Mrs.  Nesbit's  Rosalind  was  a 
sweet  piece  of  acting,  full  of  honey  ;  Madame  Vestris's  Rosa- 
lind is  all  grace  and  coquetry ;  Miss  Helen  Faucit's  (by  far 
the  best  of  them)  is  full  of  wit,  mirth,  and  beauty.  But  Miss 
Cushman  was  Rosalind.  These  were  all  water-colors ;  but 
Miss  Cushman's  Rosalind  is  in  oils,  with  such  brilliancy  of 
light  and  shade,  with  such  exquisitely  delicious  touches  of 


HER  LIFE,  LETTERS,  AND  MEMORIES.  55 

nature  and  art,  with  such  richness  of  variety  and  perfect  con- 
gruity,  that  if  we  did  not  see  Shakespeare's  '  very  Kosalind,* 
we  never  hope  or  wish  to  do  so.  We  must  confess  that,  after 
seeing  Miss  Cushman  in  Bianca  and  Mrs.  Haller,  we  thought 
her  genius  essentially  tragic ;  and  had  we  seen  her  only  in 
Rosalind,  we  should  have  thought  it  essentially  comic.  But 
the  fact  is,  as  with  Shakespeare  himself,  and  most  other  great 
poets,  the  highest  genius  necessarily  embraces  both  elements 
of  tragic  and  comic 

"  Miss  Cushman's  features,  if  they  are  deficient  in  regular 
beauty,  have  that  flexibility  which  makes  every  expression  nat- 
ural to  them,  and  causes  them  to  reflect  each  thought  which 
passed  through  the  author's  brain  as  he  drew  the  character. 
Never  did  we  hear  Shakespeare's  language  more  perfectly  enun- 
ciated. Not  a  syllable  was  lost,  and  each  syllable  was  a  note. 
The  beauties  of  the  author  were  as  clear,  as  transparent,  as 
though  the  thoughts  themselves,  instead  of  the  words  which 
are  their  vehicles,  were  transfused  through  the  senses;  eye, 
ear,  heart,  took  them  in,  in  that  perfect  form  in  which  they 
were  conceived. 

"  We  may  seem  extravagant  in  our  praise  to  those  who  have 
not  seen  Miss  Cushman,  not  to  those  who  have  seen  her ;  and 
we  trust  she  will  repeat  the  part  of  Rosalind  before  she  leaves 
us 

"  It  struck  us  as  a  circumstance  contrasting  with  the  effect 
ordinarily  produced  by  stars  upon  the  general  corps  drama- 
tique^  that  all  seemed  to  play  better  with  Miss  Cushman  than 
they  would  otherwise  have  done.  The  atmosphere  of  her 
genius  embraced  the  whole  stage,  and  was  not  limited  to  her- 
self. A  few  such  women  or  men  of  equal  stamp  (would  we 
had  them  !)  would  work  a  notable  revolution  in  the  English 
stage." 

Another  notice  of  her  Rosalind  says :  — 

"  By  her  performance  last  night  Miss  Cushman  has  discov- 
ered a  new  talent.     Intensity  of  emotion,  rapid,  impetuous 


56  CHARLOTTE  CUSHMAN  : 

transitions  from  passion  to  passion,  she  had  exhibited  in  the 
three  tragedies  that  have  been  presented.  But  it  remained  to 
be  seen  how  she  would  excel  in  a  character  in  which  light, 
graceful  comedy  is  required,  and  which  calls  forth  no  one  of 
those  qualities  by  which  she  had  previously  gained  her  public. 
"  In  this,  her  new  trial,  she  has  been  most  successful,  and,  if 
her  former  achievements  were  triumphs  of  energy,  this  was  a 
triumph  of  intelligence.  By  the  ease  with  which  she  assumed 
the  character  she  showed  how  thoroughly  she  appreciated  it  : 
a  playful  vivacity  dictated  her  words,  the  *  points '  fell  readily 
from  her  lips ;  her  Rosalind  was  no  empty  convention,  but  a 
living,  breathing,  laughing,  joyous  reality.  Yet  not  all  joyous ; 
she  shaded  the  part  with  nice  discrimination.  The  delicacy 
with  which  she  first  addressed  Orlando,  when  she  rewarded 
him  with  the  chain  and  spoke  as  if  with  difficulty  overcoming 
a  scruple,  was  chaste  and  maidenlike,  and  was  well  followed  up 
by  her  hurrying  back  to  Celia  at  the  words,  'Shall  we  go, 
coz  1 '  The  rapidity  and  anxiety  of  the  questions  with  which 
she  first  asks  for  Orlando  in  the  forest  come  out  with  great 
effect  from  the  state  of  nonchalance  which  had  preceded  them. 
Even  her  song  bears  witness  to  her  intelligence.  She  threw 
into  it  such  a  spirit  of  mirth  and  vivacity  that  it  told  unmis- 
takably upon  the  audience.  But  the  charm  of  charms  in 
this  impersonation  is  the  hearty  sweetness  of  her  laugh ;  it  is 
contagious  from  its  very  sweetness ;  she  seems  to  laugh  from 
her  very  soul  as  she  bandies  about  her  jests  and  makes  the 
love-lorn  Orlando  the  butt  of  her  pretty  malicious  pleasantries. 
And  even  as  she  feels  it,  so  does  her  audience.  In  this  part 
of  the  play  her  acting  is  a  great  treat  to  all  lovers  of  art  for 
its  truthfulness  and  its  thorough  sincerity,  and  all  through 
the  performance  she  received  and  well  merited  the  unbounded 
and  unanimous  applause  of  every  person  present." 

In  another  notice  of  the  same  part  I  find  the  follow- 
ing:— 

"  Now,  what  is  the  secret  of  Miss  Cushman's  success  in  char- 
acters so  widely  differing  from  each  other  as  Bianca,  Lady 


HER  LIFE,  LETTERS,  AND  MEMORIES.  57 

Macbeth,  and  Rosalind  ?  It  is  earnestness.  She  is  earnest 
in  whatever  she  undertakes.  She  thinks  nothing  of  individual 
self,  but  everything  of  that  other  self  with  which  for  the  time 
she  is  identified,  so  that  she  becomes  the  very  character  which 
she  represents ;  and  no  actor  or  actress  who  does  not  possess 
this  power  can  ever  become  great." 

Other  notices  of  Mrs.  Haller,  Beatrice,  etc.  are  in  the 
same  tone  of  unqualified  enthusiasm ;  each  part  in  suc- 
cession more  warmly  received  than  the  last,  as  she  grows 
in  public  favor.  Apropos  of  Mrs.  Haller,  she  used  to  tell 
with  much  amusement  how  her  performance  of  it  had 
affected  Mr.  Louis  Blanc,  at  that  time  a  political  refugee 
in  London,  and  one  of  her  warm  friends.  After  seeing 
it  first,  he  had  no  command  of  English  in  which  to  ex- 
press his  appreciation ;  but  long  afterwards,  when  he  had 
achieved  the  language,  he  said  to  her,  "  Miss  Cushman,  I 
assure  you  I  never  have  c-r-i-e-d  so  much  in  all  my  life." 
He  had  a  very  large  mouth,  and  rolled  his  r's  tremen- 
dously, and  her  imitation  of  him  was  inimitable.  I  make 
no  apology  for  reproducing  here  these  extracts  from  the 
English  papers  referring  to  her  first  performances  there. 
They  are  interesting  and  valuable  now  as  showing  how 
the  first  verdict  justified  the  last,  and  how  thorough  and 
sincere  was  the  English  estimate  of  her  powers. 

With  these  manifestations  of  public  approbation  it  is 
needless  to  say  that  private  appreciation  held  equal  meas- 
ure. Slie  secured  and  held  the  warm  esteem  and  friend- 
ship of  the  most  distinguished  literary  and  artistic  per- 
sonages of  the  day.  Verses  were  written,  pictures  painted, 
in  her  honor.  Miss  Eliza  Cook  was  a  devoted  friend,  and 
celebrated  her  friendship  in  many  fervid  lines.  The  poet 
Eogers  sought  her  out  early,  and  was  most  kind  in  pro- 
curing for  her  the  pleasure  of  meeting  all  that  was  best 
in  the  social  world  of  London.     She  often  spoke  of  those 


58  CHARLOTTE  CUSHMAN  : 

famous  breakfasts,  made  expressly  for  her,  when  she  was 
permitted  to  name  those  whom  she  particularly  wished 
to  meet,  and  who  were  accordingly  summoned  by  this 
enchanter,  whose  wealth  and  celebrity  made  him  a  potent 
influence  in  that  potent  world. 

Of  course,  after  such  pronounced  success  in  London, 
her  career  in  the  provinces  was  a  foregone  conclusion. 
She  had  made  engagements  at  Brighton,  Hull,  Manches- 
ter, Birmingham,  Edinburgh,  Glasgow,  etc. ;  but,  before 
starting  upon  this  tour,  she  took  a  furnished  cottage  at 
Bayswater,  one  of  the  suburbs  of  London,  and  established 
there  her  family,  whom,  immediately  that  she  felt  her 
success  assured,  she  had  summoned  from  America.  It 
was  there  that  she  and  her  sister  Susan  studied  "  Romeo 
and  Juliet"  together.  They  afterwards  went  for  a  few 
nights  to  Southampton,  where  they  made  their  first  essay 
in  this  performance,  which  afterwards  became  so  famous 
and  created  such  a  furore  in  England. 

Miss  Cushman  opened  her  second  engagement  in 
London  at  the  Haymarket  Theatre,  December  30,  1845, 
when  the  sisters  made  their  first  appearance  together  in 
Shakespeare's  tragedy  of  "Romeo  and  Juliet."  There 
were  many  difi&culties  and  vexations  behind  the  scenes 
in  consequence  of  their  determination  to  act  the  play 
according  to  the  original  version  of  Shakespeare  instead 
of  the  ordinary  acting  play  with  which  the  company  were 
familiar.  It  may  be  supposed  they  resented  what  they 
considered  an  assumption  of  superiority  on  the  part  of 
these  "American  Indians,"  as  they  called  the  Misses 
Cushman,  and  they  made  themselves  disagreeable  accord- 
ingly ;  so  much  so  that  Mr.  Webster,  the  manager  of  the 
theatre,  was  obliged  to  put  up  a  notice  in  the  green-room 
that  any  lady  or  gentleman  who  made  any  difficulty  or 
objection  to  carrying  out  the  wishes  of  the  Misses  Cush- 


HER  LIFE,  LETTERS,  AND  MEMORIES.  59 

man  was  welcome  to  leave  the  theatre.  This  tone,  how- 
ever, was  very  soon  changed  when  the  seal  of  success 
was  stamped  upon  their  effort,  and  soon  the  unanimous 
verdict  of  the  whole  community  brought  the  malcontents 
to  better  and  wiser  conclusions.  They  were  destined  to 
become  sufficiently  familiar  with  the  Shakespearian  ver- 
sion, for  the  tragedy  was  acted  upwards  of  eighty  nights 
in  London  alone,  and  afterwards  pursued  the  same  career 
of  almost  unexampled  success  in  the  provinces,  —  an 
unprecedented  fact  in  those  times. 

Although  Miss  Cushman's  early  training  as  a  "utility 
actress  "  at  the  Park  Theatre  had  obliged  her  to  make  her- 
self familiar  with  many  male  parts,  it  was  not  her  choice 
to  represent  such,  and  notably  in  the  case  of  this  famous 
impersonation.  She  was  led  to  her  choice  of  this  play  as 
the  one  in  which  to  present  her  sister  to  an  English 
audience,  by  her  strong  desire  to  be  enabled  to  support 
her  fittingly  herself.  In  her  own  plays  there  were  few 
characters  in  which  her  sister  could  appear,  or  only  such 
in  which  the  standard  of  position  to  which  she  had 
attained  would  have  to  be  lowered  by  her  personation  of 
them.  By  acting  Eomeo  herself,  she  would  add  to  her 
sister's  attraction,  secure  her  success,  and  give  her  that 
support  which  it  would  be  difficult  otherwise  to  obtain. 
It  is  well  known  that  there  is  no  character  in  the  whole 
range  of  the  drama  so  difficult  to  find  an  adequate  repre- 
sentative for  as  Eomeo.  When  a  man  has  achieved  the 
experience  requisite  to  act  Eomeo,  he  has  ceased  to  be 
young  enough  to  look  it ;  and  this  discrepancy  is  felt  to  be 
unendurable  in  the  young,  passionate  Eomeo,  and  detracts 
much  from  the  interest  of  the  play.  Who  could  endure 
to  see  a  man  with  the  muscles  of  Forrest,  or  even  the  keen 
intellectual  face  of  Macready,  in  the  part  of  the  gallant 
and  loving  boy  ? 


60  CHARLOTTE  CUSHMAN : 

Her  assumption  of  it  seemed  to  fill  all  tlie  needs  at 
once,  —  maturity  of  powers,  with  gentleness  and  grace  of 
deportment;  and  yet,  with  the  inimitable  savoir  faire 
which  belonged  to  her,  she  was  enabled  to  throw  into  it 
enough  of  manliness  and  chivalrous  gallantry  of  demeanor 
to  make  the  vraisemblance  perfect,  as  it  proved  in  the 
estimation  of  the  public,  who  received  and  accepted  the 
unusual  combination  with  delighted  enthusiasm. 

The  newspaper  comments  upon  this  performance  are 
very  curious,  as  showing  how  completely  it  took  the 
heart  of  London  and  all  England  by  storm.  Miss  Susan 
Cushman's  success  was  very  marked,  though  there  can  be 
little  doubt  whose  ^lan  carried  the  piece  along  its  tri- 
umphant course.     The  Times  says :  — 

"  It  is  enough  to  say  that  the  Romeo  of  Miss  Cushman  is 
far  superior  to  any  Romeo  we  have  ever  had.  The  distinction 
is  not  one  of  degree,  it  is  one  of  kind.  For  a  long  time  Romeo 
has  been  a  convention.  Miss  Cushman's  Romeo  is  a  creation ; 
a  living,  breathing,  animated,  ardent  human  being.  The 
memory  of  play -goers  will  call  up  Romeo  as  a  collection  of 
speeches,  delivered  with  more  or  less  eloquence,  not  as  an 
individual.  Miss  Cushman  has  given  the  vivifying  spark, 
whereby  the  fragments   are   knit   together   and   become  an 

organized  entirety All  the  manifestations  of  Romeo's 

disposition  were  given  with  absolute  truth,  and  the  one  soul 
was  recognizable  through  them  all.  Miss  Cushman  looks 
Romeo  exceedingly  well ;  her  deportment  is  frank  and  easy ; 
she  walks  the  stage  with  an  air  of  command  ;  her  eye  beams 
with  animation.  In  a  word,  Romeo  is  one  of  her  grand  suc- 
cesses." 

From  Lloyd's  Weekly  Messenger  we  extract  the  follow- 
ing:— 

"  Miss  Cushman's  Romeo  must  henceforth  be  ranked  among 
her  best  performances.     It  was  admirably  conceived.     Every 


HER  LIFE,  LETTEES,  AND  MEMORIES.  61 

scene  was  warm  and  animated,  and  at  once  conveyed  the  im- 
pression of  the  character.  There  was  no  forced  or  elaborate 
attempt  at  feeling  or  expression.  You  were  addressed  by  the 
whole  mind ;  passion  spoke  in  every  feature,  and  the  illusion 
was  forcible  and  perfect.  Miss  Cushman's  particular  excel- 
lence was  in  the  scene  with  the  Friar,  and  the  concluding 
scenes  of  the  tragedy.  We  never  saw  these  scenes  so  justly 
conceived  or  so  vigorously  executed.  The  judgment  was 
satisfied  and  the  fancy  delighted  :  they  had  the  excellence  of 
all  art.  Miss  Cushman's  talents  are  certain  of  commanding 
success  in  every  character  in  which  vigorous  and  predominant 
passion  are  to  be  delineated.  She  is  temperate,  but  never 
tame ;  her  acting  always  rouses  the  feelings  without  offending 
the  taste.  She  is  the  best  actress  that  has  appeared  upon  the 
English  stage  since  the  days  of  Miss  O'Niel." 

Another  weekly  discourses  of  this  performance  as  fol- 
lows :  — 

"  Monday  introduced  us  to  such  a  Romeo  as  we  had  never 
ventured  to  hope  for.  Certainly,  in  reading  the  tragedy 
feelings  of  quiet  discontent  with  certain  stage  renderings 
often  came  across  us,  and  a  vague  idea  that  if  an  artist  with 
some  faith  in  his  heart  as  well  as  in  his  art  should  try  the 
character  of  Romeo,  work  might  be  wrought  with  other  hearts. 
But  we  had  not  dreamed  of  so  early  an  outstripping  of  all 
our  hopes.  The  glowing  reality  and  completeness  of  Miss 
Cushman's  performance  perhaps  produces  the  strength  of  the 
impression  with  which  she  sends  us  away.  The  character, 
instead  of  being  shown  us  in  a  heap  of  disjecta  membra  is 
exhibited  by  her  in  a  powerful  light  which  at  once  displays 
the  proportions  and  the  beauty  of  the  poet's  conception.  It  is 
as  if  a  noble  symphony,  distorted,  and  rendered  unmeaning 
by  inefficient  conductors,  had  suddenly  been  performed  under 
the  hand  of  one  who  knew  in  what  time  the  composer  intended 
it  should  be  taken.  Yet  this  wonderful  completeness,  though 
it  may  produce  upon  the  public  the  effect  of  all  high  art,  that 


62  CHARLOTTE   CUSHMAN : 

of  concealing  the  means  by  which  it  is  obtained,  ought  not  to 
render  the  critic  unmindful  of  Miss  Cushman's  labors  in  detail. 
These  should  be  pointed  out,  not  to  diminish,  but  on  the  con- 
trary to  increase,  by  explaining  her  triumph.  For  had  her 
superb  conception  not  been  seconded  by  the  utmost  exactitude 
of  execution,  the  effect  would  have  failed.  Of  this,  however, 
there  was  no  lack,  nor  is  it  for  us  to  estimate  the  pains  of  a 
process  by  which  so  finished  a  work  was  achieved.  It  is  for 
us  merely  to  record  that  no  symptoms  of  carelessness  or  haste 
appeared,  no  sentiment  was  slurred  over  or  half  comprehended, 
no  passage  slighted  as  of  small  importance.  The  intensity 
with  which  the  actress  has  seized  the  character  is  grounded 
upon  too  reverent  an  appreciation  of  its  creator's  genius  to 
allow  her  to  sit  in  judgment  on  the  means  he  has  chosen  for 
the  accomplishment  of  his  own  purpose.  The  restoration  of 
the  plot  and  text  of  Shakespeare  (thankfully  as  we  receive  it) 
is  a  part  only  of  this  demonstration  of  the  honor  in  which  he 
is  held  by  the  most  admirable  of  his  modern  illustrators.  It 
breathes  through  every  line  of  the  performance. 

"  All  Miss  Cushman's  stage  business  is  founded  upon  intel- 
lectual ideas,  and  not  upon  conventionalisms ;  but  it  is  also 
most  effective  in  a  theatrical  light.  Her  walk  and  attitudes 
are  graceful ;  the  manner  in  which  the  courtesy  of  the  stage 
is  given  is  very  high-bred ;  her  fencing  is  better  than  skilful, 
because  it  is  appropriate.  Tybalt  is  struck  dead  as  lightning 
strikes  the  pine ;  one  blow  beats  down  his  guard,  and  one 
lunge  closes  the  fray ;  indignation  has  for  a  moment  the  soul 
of  Romeo.  With  Paris  there  is  more  display  of  swordsman- 
ship :  he  falls  by  the  hand  of  the  lover  when  '  as  fixed,  but  far 
too  tranquil  for  despair ' ;  and  the  gestures,  eloquent  as  words, 
in  the  garden  scene,  and  the  piteous  lingering  over  the  body 
of  Juliet,  are  portions  of  the  performance  which  are  not  likely 
to  pass  away  from  the  memory  of  the  spectator,  who  was  com- 
pelled in  the  former  to  share  the  lover's  enthusiasm,  in  the 
latter  his  agony." 

Among  these  notices  of  Miss  Cushman's  Romeo  I  find 


HER  LIFE,  LETTERS,  AND   MEMORIES.  63 

the  following  warm  and   appreciative   testimonial  from 
James  Sheridan  Knowles,  the  well-known  dramatist :  — 

"  I  witnessed  with  astonishment  the  Romeo  of  Miss  Cush- 
man.  Unanimous  and  lavish  as  were  the  encomiums  of  the 
London  press,  I  was  not  prepared  for  such  a  triumph  of  pure 
genius.  You  recollect,  perhaps,  Kean's  third  act  of  Othello. 
Did  you  ever  expect  to  see  anything  like  it  again  1  I  never 
did,  and  yet  I  saw  as  great  a  thing  last  Wednesday  night  in 
Romeo's  scene  with  the  Friar,  after  the  sentence  of  banish- 
ment, quite  as  great !  I  am  almost  tempted  to  go  further. 
It  was  a  scene  of  topmost  passion  ;  not  simulated  passion,  — 
no  such  thing ;  real,  palpably  real ;  the  genuine  heart-storra 
was  on,  —  on  in  wildest  fitfulness  of  fury  ;  and  I  listened  and 
gazed  and  held  my  breath,  while  my  blood  ran  hot  and  cold. 
I  am  sure  it  must  have  been  the  case  with  every  one  in  the 
house ;  but  I  was  all  absorbed  in  Romeo,  till  a  thunder  of 
applause  recalled  me  to  myself.  I  particularize  this  scene 
because  it  is  the  most  powerful,  but  every  scene  exhibited 
the  same  truthfulness.  The  first  scene  with  Juliet,  for  in- 
stance, admirably  personated  by  her  beautiful  sister,  was  ex- 
quisitely faithful,  —  the  eye,  the  tone,  the  general  bearing,  — 
everything  attesting  the  lover  smit  to  the  core  at  first  sight, 
and  shrinkingly  and  falteringly  endeavoring,  with  the  aid  of 
palm  and  eye  and  tongue,  to  break  his  passion  to  his  idol. 
My  heart  and  mind  are  so  full  of  this  extraordinary,  most 
extraordinary  performance,  that  I  know  not  where  to  stop  or 
how  to  go  on.  Throughout  it  was  a  triiunph  equal  to  the 
proudest  of  those  which  I  used  to  witness  years  ago,  and  for 
a  repetition  of  which  I  have  looked  in  vain  till  now.  There 
is  no  trick  in  Miss  Cushman's  performance ;  no  thought,  no 
interest,  no  feeling,  seems  to  actuate  her,  except  what  might 
be  looked  for  in  Romeo  himself  were  Romeo  reality." 

Their  appearance  in  this  tragedy  was  due  to  an  act  of 
concession  on  the  part  of  the  Dublin  manager,  Mr.  Cal- 
craft,  who  waived  his  rights  to  allow  of  its  production  in 


64  CHAKLOTTE  CUSHMAN  : 

London.  Almost  immediately  afterwards  they  left  Lon- 
don to  fulfil  their  engagements  in  the  provinces,  acting 
first  in  Dublin  a  six  weeks'  engagement,  in  the  course 
of  which  they  played  "Eomeo  and  Juliet,"  and  "Ion," 
and  Miss  Cushman's  usual  round  of  characters.  They 
also  played  "Twelfth  Night "  together,  Miss  Cushman  tak- 
ing the  part  of  Viola.  There  are  numerous  enthusiastic 
notices  of  these  performances  in  the  provinces  ;  but  it  is 
sufficient  for  my  purpose  to  have  given  those  which 
marked  the  great  success  in  London,  the  verdict  there 
making  the  result  elsewhere  certain. 

She  was  a  special  favorite  with  the  Dublin  audiences, 
and  with  the  Irish  people  generally,  and  made  many 
warm  and  devoted  friends  in  the  green  island.  They 
felt  in  sympathy  with  all  that  was  genial  and  impul- 
sive in  her  nature,  and  friends  will  remember  hearing 
her  often  say  that  nowhere,  in  all  her  experience,  did  she 
find  the  magnetic  spark  of  sympathy  so  quickly  and 
readily  enkindled  as  with  her  Irish  audiences.  But  why 
should  we  say  that  in  one  place  more  than  another  Miss 
Cushman  succeeded  in  touching  the  hearts  of  her  audi- 
ences ;  the  potent  spell  lay  in  her,  and  between  her  and 
the  beating  heart  of  humanity,  which  all  the  world  over 
is  lying  in  wait,  as  it  were,  for  the  magnetic  touch,  the 
winged  word,  "the  spark  as  of  fire  from  the  altar,"  which, 
as  it  kindles,  makes  the  whole  world  kin. 

I  may  recall  here  one  or  two  of  the  Irish  stories  with 
which  Miss  Cushman  used  "to  bring  down  the  house," 
privately,  for  the  entertainment  of  her  friends  and  guests. 
She  would  have  been  a  wonderful  linguist  if  the  means 
of  educating  her  great  faculties  had  been  accorded  her  in 
early  life  ;  as  it  was,  she  had  the  greatest  gift  for  speaking 
"  broken  tongues  "  and  dialects  ever  heard.  The  brogue  not 
only  came  natural  to  her,  but  she  knew  how  to  distinguish 


HER  LIFE,  LETTERS,  AND  MEMORIES.  65 

between  the  accents  of  different  parts  of  Ireland,  and  often 
puzzled  the  natives  themselves  to  discover  whether  she 
came  from  the  north  or  the  south.  One  of  our  dear  Irish 
friends  in  Kome,  a  noble  specimen  of  the  true  Irish  gen- 
tlewoman, never  talked  anything  but  the  brogue  with 
Miss  Cushman,  and  as  she  was  uncommonly  witty  and 
clever,  the  contact  of  their  wits  on  these  occasions  struck 
out  many  a  bright  spark.  It  was  the  same  with  the 
Scotch,  the  German,  and  even  the  Italian;  and  her 
power  over  the  negro  dialect  would  have  set  up  endless 
troops  of  negro  minstrels.  Many  will  recall  her  masterly 
rendering  of  Burns  in  "A  Man  's  a  Man  for  a'  That," 
"  The  Annuity,"  and  that  wonderful  effort,  "  The  Death 
of  the  Old  Squire,"  as  well  as  "  The  Swivil  Eights  Bill," 
and  others  of  her  comic  selections.  But  she  had,  beside 
these,  an  inexhaustible  supply  of  such  bits  of  drollery, 
with  which  she  used  "to  set  the  table  in  a  roar,"  and 
which  she  enjoyed  herself  to  the  full  as  much  as  they 
did. 

On  one  occasion,  w^hen  she  was  acting  in  Dublin,  she 
started  out  with  the  intention  of  taking  a  short  drive,  and 
called  up  one  of  the  cabs  in  waiting,  near  her  hotel.  It 
was  what  is  called,  in  Dublin  parlance,  "  an  outside  car," 
that  is,  an  open  vehicle  with  the  seat  running  sideways 
over  the  wheels.  There  was  a  little  look  of  rain  in  the 
air,  and  she  said  to  the  man,  "Do  you  think  it  will  rain  ?" 
"Divil  a  dhrop,"  said  he  promptly.  "Well,  remember 
now,  if  it  rains  I  wiU  not  pay  you,"  said  she.  "Hop 
up,"  was  the  answer.  After  they  had  gone  a  short  dis- 
tance a  large  drop  of  rain  splashed  upon  her  silk  dress. 
She  touched  his  arm.  "  Look  here,"  said  she,  "  what  do 
you  call  that?"  "0,  that's  nothing  at  all."  "Faith, 
I  '11  be  dhrounded,"  said  Miss  Cushman,  in  the  broadest 
Dublin  brogue.     Cabby  looked  at  her  out  of  the  corner 


66  CHARLOTTE  CUSHMAN  : 

of  his  eye.  It  was  enough;  the  sympathetic  note  had 
been  struck,  and  he  poured  forth  endless  stores  of  fun 
and  drollery  all  the  rest  of  the  drive,  answering  all  her 
questions  instantly,  right  or  wrong,  true  or  false,  with  a 
ready  wit  peculiarly  Irish.  As  they  passed  the  post- 
office,  Miss  Cushman  pointed  to  some  statues  on  the  top 
of  the  building,  and  asked  him  what  they  were.  "  Faith, 
thim  's  the  twelve  apostles,"  said  he.  "  But  there  are 
only  four  of  them,"  said  Miss  Cushman ;  "  where  are  the 
others?"  "Faith,"  said  paddy,  "they  must  be  below, 
sortin'  the  letthers." 

On  another  occasion  she  asked  one  of  the  car  drivers, 
"  What  is  the  difference  between  an  outside  and  an  in- 
side car?"  "The  difference,"  said  he,  —  "the  difference? 
Well,  sure,  it 's  just  this ;  an  inside  car  has  its  wheels  on 
the  outside,  and  an  outside  car  has  'em  on  the  inside" ; 
which  is  as  true  a  definition  as  could  be  devised. 

Another  Irish  incident  she  used  to  tell  was  the  follow- 
ing. During  one  of  her  engagements  in  Dublin  a  very 
full  house  had  assembled ;  the  Lord  Lieutenant  was  coming 
in  state ;  there  had  been  excitement  over  certain  elections, 
and  party  spirit  ran  high.  The  audience  amused  itself 
before  the  opening  of  the  play  by  calling  out  for  cheers  for 
this,  that,  and  the  other,  shouting  for  some,  groaning  for 
others,  and  making  great  disturbance ;  so  much  so  that 
the  play  could  not  be  heard.  There  were  fears  that  it 
might  end  in  rioting.  Suddenly,  in  the  midst  of  the  con- 
fusion a  voice  called  out,  "  Three  cheers  for  the  divil ! " 
Upon  which  name  both  parties  united  with  hearty  enthu- 
siasm, and  peace  was  restored. 

The  Dublin  audiences  were  very  turbulent,  very  enthu- 
siastic, and  much  given  to  uttering  their  thoughts  and 
feelings  aloud,  from  pit  to  gallery,  and  often  to  the  per- 
formers on  the  stage.     One  night  a  sudden  disturbance 


HER  LIFE,  LETTERS,  AND  MEMORIES. 


67 


occurred  among  the  gods,  and  could  not  be  easily  quieted. 
Of  course  the  pit  took  the  matter  in  hand ;  much  wit  was 
bandied  about,  up  and  down,  and  as  in  old  pagan  times 
a  victim  was  demanded.  "  Throw  him  over,  throw  him 
over ! "  resounded  from  all  sides.  Suddenly,  in  a  lull  of 
the  confusion,  a  delicate  female  voice  was  heard  exclaim- 
ing in  dulcet  tones,  "  0,  no,  don't  throw  him  over,  kill 
him  where  he  is ! " 


^••''••>\^;»:^'-"""''^   •••"'-  "^ 

•W:.S>:y-^^v,.:;iSK*/;:;«.;V^S%:c:^;^,.:-iS::;;.-^ 

^"v^^^^p^^ 

h:J:Vitt«!KJ^3aU-&:SC?ayrSM^;;%iWi?ft; 

:S/5C^VVi>x-av!KSf>iSH?JS?vSP^Si^^ 

CHAPTER    IV. 

*'  There  is  no  soul 
More  stronger  to  direct  you  than  yourself." 

Henry  VIII. 
"  Those  about  her, 
From  her  shall  read  the  perfect  ways  of  honor." 

Henry  VIII. 

N"  March,  1847,  the  sisters  commenced  their  pro- 
vincial tour  by  acting  an  engagement  of  six 
weeks  in  Dublin,  afterwards  going  to  Birming- 
ham, Manchester,  Leeds,  Hull,  Newcastle,  Sheffield,  Brigh- 
ton, Edinburgh,  Glasgow,  Cork,  Limerick,  Dundee,  Perth, 
etc.,  closing  at  Liverpool,  where  they  made  a  visit  at 
Seaforth  Hall,  the  seat  of  Mr.  James  Muspratt,  whose 
son,  Dr.  J.  Sheridan  Muspratt,  Miss  Susan  Cushman  (or 
Mrs.  Merriman)  afterwards  married. 

They  also  made  during  this  season  a  short  excursion  to 
Paris,  and  it  was  at  this  time  Miss  Cushman  made  the 
acquaintance  of  Mr.  Henry  F.  Chorley,  the  well-known 
dramatic  and  musical  critic  of  the  Athenaeum,  a  man  much 
respected  for  his  unbending  integrity  as  a  critic,  as  well 
as  for  his  sterling  qualities  as  a  man.  He  was  a  warm 
friend  to  Miss  Cushman,  and  continued  so  to  the  day  of 
his  death.  Some  extracts  from  his  letters  referring  to 
this  period  may  not  be  uninteresting.  Hers  to  him  have, 
«.nfortunately,  not  been  preserved. 

In  a  letter  dated  April,  1847,  we  find  the  first  allusion 


HER  LIFE,   LETTERS,  AND   MEMORIES.  69 

to  his  play,  "  The  Duchess  Eleanor,"  which  Miss  Cush- 
man  afterwards  acted  in,  but  which  did  not  prove  a  suc- 
cess. Miss  Cushman  is  at  Malvern,  recruiting  from  the 
fatigues  of  her  two  seasons  ;  and  he  says  :  — 

*'  Keep  yourself  tranquilly,  hopefully,  in  lavender,  both 
mind  and  body,  and  get  as  much  rest,  health,  and  strength,  as 
you  can.  When  you  come  again  to  London  you  are  right  in 
thinking  that  you  must  come  well.  A  more  unpropitious  sea- 
son than  this  could  not  have  been,  and  it  is  just  as  well  that 
the  play  was  not  tried,  though  I  begin  to  think  I  shall  never 
have  the  agreeable  misery  of  seeing  anything  of  mine  acted, 
beyond  some  sort  of  a  namby-pamby  opera  translation.  It  is 
charming  to  get  old,  because  one  has  no  longer  high-raised 
expectations." 

Another  letter  of  this  period  is  from  Switzerland,  and 
fixes  Miss  Cushman's  locality  as  still  at  Malvern,  where 
she  was  in  the  habit  of  going  whenever  suffering  from 
overwork  or  nervous  exhaustion,  and  always  with  great 
benefit : — 

"  I  have  been  more  enchanted  than  I  expected  with  Swit- 
zerland. When  one  has  heard  much  of  any  sight,  as  of  any 
person,  spiritual  pride  is  apt  to  say,  *  After  all,  the  thing  is 
not  worth  so  very  much.'  This  poor  country  has,  perhaps 
beyond  all  others,  been  given  over  as  a  prey  to  travelling 
men,  women,  and  children.  But,  though  the  weather  has  been 
wretched  and  the  season  much  too  late,  I  have  had  very  great 
enjoyment.  To  describe  is  impossible.  There  are  only  some 
few  bits  of  Byron  here  and  there,  among  all  that  has  been 
written,  which  in  the  slightest  manner  approach  the  grandeur 
of  the  reality.  Perhaps,  if  we  are  so  happy  as  to  have  a  cosey 
London  winter  near  each  other,  bits  of  scenery  and  wayside 
adventure  may  come  out  in  talk,  such  as  shall  even  match 
our  rummages  of  the  shops  or  the  theatres  in  our  never-to- 
be-forgotten  holiday  of  October  last. 


70  CHARLOTTE   CUSHMAN  : 

"  I  must  tell  you  that  at  Vevay  I  fell  into  the  company  of 
Mrs.  TroUope,  who  was  wonderfully  mystified  to  discover  what 
manner  of  animal  I  was,  and  I  must  say  was  very  agree- 
able. We  had  also  three  charming  days  with  Mendelssohn  at 
Interlaken,  and,  in  short,  have  not  lacked  entertainment, 
though,  owing  to  the  weather,  with  not  precisely  as  many 
snow  mountains  for  breakfast,  glaciers  for  dinner,  and  lakes 
for  tea  as  we  would  bespeak  when  setting  out  for  a  Swiss 
ramble. 

"  Now,  in  the  hope  of  our  pleasant  meeting  in  late  October 
(as  I  am  booked  for  the  15th),  let  me  provoke  you  and  Mrs. 

M ,  wind  and  Maddox   permitting,  to   dine  with  me  on 

Gunpowder  Treason  Day,  November  5,  when  my  house  opens 
its  doors  and  cries,  *  Chorley  at  home  again.' " 

**  Need  I  say  how  heartily  I  wish  and  hope  that  this  may 
find  you  better  for  the  cold  *  water  privileges '  you  are  enjoy- 
ing, and  the  hot  water  ditto  which  I  must  undergo  if  *  Duchess 
Elinor '  at  last  comes  to  a  hearing  ?  This  is  not  a  letter,  the 
wisest  of  queens  will  please  to  observe,  but  merely  a  card  of 
inquiry  from  one  who  hopes  to  prove  himself,"  etc. 

On  the  subject  of  the  play  he  says  in  a  later  letter :  — 

"  As  to  seeing  Mr.  Maddox,  do  you  know  I  think  it  would 
be  for  every  one's  best  that  I  should  be  the  moon  behind 
the  clouds.  Since  you  and  I  understand  each  other  so  com- 
pletely that  I  have  no  earthly  fear  of  the  affair  not  being  safer 
in  your  hands  than  mine,  and  I  will  work  morning,  noon,  and 
night  and  midnight,  till  you  are  contented.  My  disinclina- 
tion means  no  avoidance  of  labor  or  responsibility,  but  a  con- 
viction that  my  being  known  is  more  likely  to  hinder  than  to 
help  the  success  of  the  piece.  I  don't  think  much  of  the  work 
myself,  save  in  seeing  the  confidence  with  which  it  inspires 
you,  and  from  believing  the  time  is  come  when  the  public 
would  like  to  have  a  play  for  a  great  woman.  Therefore,  just 
turn  this  over  in  your  mind,  whether  it  would  not  be  better 
for  you  to  say  that  you  will  see  the  royal  author  on  Sunday, 


HER  LIFE,   LETTERS,  AND  MEMORIES.  71 

who  is  ready  to  make  such  changes  as  Queen  Cushman  and 
Manager  Maddox  may  agree  upon,  but  for  many  reasons  is 
anxious  to  blush  unseen  until  his  fate  is  ascertained.  But  I 
leave  everything  at  your  disposal  and  discretion.  Hoping  to 
find  a  note  to  say  that  you  are  coming  to  eat  Heaven  knows 
what  this  day  week  at  my  octagon  table  at  five  o'clock,"  etc. 

Later  on,  October  23,  he  writes  :  — 

"  Thanks  for  your  note,  and  for  your  steady  efforts  to  see 
justice  done  to  the  Duchess.  In  my  case,  beyond  the  certain 
fidget  which,  be  a  man  hard  as  a  stone,  will  from  time  to  time 
wear  one  when  the  matter  has  been  so  long  protracted,  I  feel 
little  in  the  affair  save  the  encouragement  of  your  great  kind- 
ness, which  I  take  as  encouragement,  inasmuch  as  it  is  not 
phrasing,  but  must  be  sincere  from  the  nature  and  manner  of 
its  manifestations." 

On  October  28  he  writes  :  — 

"  Had  I  not  found  your  note  on  coming  home  from  the  the- 
atre, I  must  have  written  to  you  after  the  Queen  Katharine, 
which  I  went  to  see  quietly.  You  are  wholly  wrong  to  fancy 
that  the  part  does  not  do  you  good,  and  you  good  to  the  part. 
What  will  you  say  when  I  tell  you  that  it  has  given  me  a 
higher  idea  of  your  power  than  any  I  have  yet  seen  you  act  1 
I  like  it  all,  conception,  execution,  everything.  I  like  the 
plainness,  the  simplicity,  and  the  utter  absence  of  all  strain  or 
solemnity. 

"  You  know  I  am  difficult,  and  little  given  to  praising  any 
one.  Most  of  all  was  I  delighted  to  hear  how  your  level  voice, 
when  not  forced,  tells,  and  tells  thoroughly.  Now  believe  I 
don't  say  this  to  put  you  in  good-humor,  or  for  any  other  rea- 
son than  because  it  is  honest  and  rrnist  come ! 

"  As  for  the  critics,  remember  that  from  time  immemorial 
they  have  been  always,  at  first,  unjust  to  new  and  natural 
readings.  The  house  shows  how  little  harm  or  good  they  do, 
and  of  its  humor  there  was  no  doubt;  though  people  who 


72  CHARLOTTE   CUSHMAN  : 

have  been  wiping  their  eyes  on  apricot-colored  bonnet-strings, 
as  I  saw  one  young  lady  of  nature  doing,  can't  find  time  or 
coolness  to  applaud  as  they  ought.  In  short,  I  was  pleased, 
much  pleased,  and  shall  tell  you  yet  more  about  the  same  when 
I  see  you,  and  I  am  truly  glad  for  your  own  sake  you  have 
played  the  part.  A and  I  were  two  sitting  notes  of  admi- 
ration ;  he  is  going  to  write  one  also.  I  believe  I  saw  the 
angelic  manager  hovering  on  the  stairs ;  but  I  don't  think  he 
knows  me  if  he  sees  me,  or  I  would  let  my  beard  grow  again 
as  fast  as  possible,  and  dye  it  black,  by  way  of  mystification." 

From  some  undated  notes  :  — 

"  I  write  to  you  immediately  on  hearing  from  the  Neigh- 
bourina,  to  say  that  I  hope  you  will  dine  with  me  on  Sunday 

week,  with  Mrs.  M ,  if  she  shall  so  please,  as  it  will  be 

merely  a  business  dinner,  and  myself  will  only  arrive  late  on 
Saturday  evening.  There  can  be  no  truffles,  alas  !  nor  sar- 
cophagus puddings ;  only  bones  to  pick,  and  greetings  to  ex- 
change, and  measures  to  be  taken  that  the  Duchess  be  written 
neither  smaller  nor  taller  than  the  pleasant  public  shall  please. 
My  first  impulse  was  to  pack  up  soul  and  body  immediately 
on  receiving  yours.  Then  it  occurred  to  me  that  all  the  week 
you  will  be  busy»at  rehearsal,  and  that  probably  the  day  I 
mention  may  be  the  earliest  you  could  really  devote  to  our 
affair ;  so  that  I  am  acting,  I  hope,  for  the  best  against  my 
impatience  in  thus  bidding  you  to  a  conference  eight  days 
hence." 

In  default  of  Miss  Cushman's  own  letters  of  this  period, 
which  have  been,  through  lapse  of  time  and  combination 
of  circumstances,  unfortunately  lost  or  destroyed,  I  have 
thought  it  best  to  introduce  any  letters  written  to  her 
having  any  value  in  themselves,  which  have  come  into 
my  hands,  believing  that  nothing  can  be  unimportant 
which  illustrates  even  incidentally  a  career  like  hers. 

"  The  Duchess  Elinor "  was  not  produced  until  Miss 
Cushman's  return  to  England  in  1855. 


HER  LIFE,  LETTERS,  AND   MEMORIES.  73 

For  the  year  1848  there  are  few  memoranda  or  letters, 
and  memory  must  be  invoked  for  a  record  of  her  move- 
ments, which  were  many  and  varied.  The  activity  of  her 
life  during  these  English  years  was  amazing,  both  in  the 
direction  of  work  and  play.  It  is  notable  that  work 
always  follows  play  as  a  natural  and  inevitable  sequence, 
and  the  social  relaxation  which  was  so  necessary,  and 
which  she  enjoyed  with  her  whole  heart,  never  absorbed 
her  to  the  extent  of  making  her  forget  her  duties  to  her 
art  or  to  her  family.  We  have  brief  records  of  delightful 
tours  into  all  the  most  lovely  parts  of  England,  almost 
always  undertaken  with  or  for  friends  with  whom  she 
wished  to  share  the  pleasure  of  the  excursion.  She  never 
could  and  never  did,  in  all  the  course  of  her  life,  enjoy 
anything  alone  or  selfishly;  and  such  friends  as  have  shared 
with  her  these  unequalled  experiences  will  remember  how 
perfect  she  was  as  hostess,  companion,  helper,  how  ordi- 
nary difficulties  cleared  away  before  her,  how  rough  places 
became  smooth  and  bright  spots  brighter  under  her  genial 
influence.  It  has  been  well  said  that  a  sincere  desire  to 
give  pleasure  was  her  chief  characteristic ;  it  might  be 
added,  to  take  it  also,  for  she  had  a  real  genius  for  enjoy- 
ment ;  no  one  was  ever  more  ready  and  glad  to  be  pleased, 
and  to  accept  with  more  gracious  cordiality  the  simplest 
effort  to  afford  her  gratification. 

In  the  early  part  of  this  year  the  sisters  were  acting 
together  again  in  the  provinces,  always  with  the  same 
success.  On  the  10th  of  July  Miss  Cushman  acted 
"  Queen  Katharine "  for  Mr.  Macready's  farewell  benefit 
at  Drury  Lane  Theatre.  The  queen  was  present,  and  it 
was  a  very  grand  occasion.  After  this  she  went  to 
Manchester  on  a  visit,  and  then  to  Bolton  Woods  for  two 
months,  stopping  at  a  farm-house  on  the  estate  of  the 
Duke  of  Devonshire.     The  duke  was  then  living  there  at 


74  CHAKLOTTE   CUSHMAN  : 

one  of  his  hunting-lodges,  and  was  very  kind  to  Miss 
Cushman,  sending  his  carriage  for  her  to  come  to  luncheon 
with  him,  and  showing  her  many  kind  attentions. 

Among  the  letters  of  1846-48  I  find  some  from  Miss 
Jewsbury,  the  well-known  authoress,  who  was  one  of 
Miss  Cushman's  earliest  friends  in  England.  They  are 
carelessly  dated,  but  belong  to  the  above  time.  In  one 
I  find  the  following.  Speaking  of  a  dinner-party  she 
had  attended  she  says:  — 

"  I  did  not  get  next  the  man  laid  out  for  me,  but  had  for 
companion  a  good  Englishman,  to  whom  I  had  the  comfort  of 
talking  about  you.  He  had  never  seen  you,  and  for  many  years 
had  given  up  going  to  theatres,  as  he  is  faithful  to  the  memory 
of  Mrs.  Siddons  and  all  that  generation,  and  has  even  pre- 
served the  playbills.  But  he  talked  very  well  and  most  en- 
thusiastically, and  listened  to  all  I  said  with  great  faith,  and 
the  next  time  you  come  here  he  is  fully  purposed  to  go.  We 
were  settling  you  the  whole  dinner-time,  and  I  could  not  help 
laughing  to  see  how  people  instinctively  find  their  point  of 
sympathy.  Although  he  had  not  been  to  see  you  act,  he  felt 
a  sympathy  with  you  for  what  you  had  done  for  your  family ; 
he  said  he  had  heard  of  that,  and  it  happens  that  all  his  family 
had  been  thrown  on  him,  and  he  behaved  in  a  most  worthy 
way.  He  was  intended  for  the  church,  and  had  a  most  decided 
inclination  for  it ;  but  whilst  he  was  at  college  his  father  died 
in  embarrassed  circumstances,  and  this  man  was  obliged  to 
leave  college,  and  go  behind  a  counter  and  drudge  for  years  to 
retrieve  his  affairs  and  bring  up  the  rest  of  the  family,  hating 
it  all  the  time ;  but  he  did  it,  and  adopted  two  of  his  sister's 
children  beside ;  finally  made  his  fortune  and  retired,  and  is 
extremely  respected,  as  he  deserves  to  be ;  and  there  was  your 
point  of  interest  to  him.  He  Tcnew  what  it  was  you  had  done, 
and  could  appreciate  it." 

In  another  letter  she  says  :  — 

"  My  dear  Charlotte  :  I  feel  very  anxious  about  you.     It 


HER  LIFE,   LETTERS,  AND   MEMORIES.  75 

seems  to  me  when  people  have  attained  your  height,  the  wear 
and  tear  of  keejjing  up  is  worse  than  the  fatigue  of  climbing. 
You  seem  to  me  in  that  way  in  your  last.  I  can  understand 
how  it  is,  though  I  am  not  come  to  the  dignity  of  feeling  it  on 
my  own  account.  I  fancy  it  is  a  good  omen  ;  none  but  those 
able  to  go  on  can  feel  it ;  and  after  a  triumph  such  as  you  have 
achieved  it  is  natural  you  should  feel  like  a  racer  after  the 
course,  not  up  to  running  again  at  present ;  people  never  feel 
so  strong  as  after  a  defeat,  nor  so  weak  and  trembling  as  after 
a  victory,  —  so  little  able,  I  mean,  to  do  more.  So,  dear,  if 
you  have  any  fears  or  misgivings,  don't  heed  them.  It  is  only 
a  sign  that  success  has  not  intoxicated  you,  and  that  you  are 
not  uncoiled  all  your  length. 

"  As  to  what  you  say  of  not  having  been  '  up  to  the  mark.* 
You  are  not  a  machine,  but  a  woman  of  genius.  Nothing  is 
certain  and  constant  in  its  action  but  mechanism,  and  yet  the 
best  thing  done  by  mechanism  is  not  so  valuable  as  the  un- 
certain, varying,  sometimes  imperfect  result  of  human  efforts. 
What  you  effect  comes  from  within,  and  if  you  were  always 
*  up  to  the  mark,'  it  would  be  a  great  presumption  that  it  was 
mechanical,  and  came  from  without.  So  do  not  disturb  your- 
self for  nothing.  I  have  no  need  to  say  *  Go  on,'  for  you  are 
one  of  those  who  cannot  help  it.  Tell  me  how  you  go  on,  for 
indeed  and  indeed  I  feel  for  your  success  more  than  I  ever 
could  do  for  my  own." 

The  following  extract  refers  evidently  to  Miss  Cush- 
mau's  first  visit  to  Malvern,  which  became  afterwards 
such  a  favorite  resort.  • 

"  My  dearest  Charlotte  :  I  was  very  glad  to  get  your 
note,  and  to  see  your  handwriting  once  more.  I  am  very  anx- 
ious to  hear  how  hydropathy  suits  you.  It  is  no  use  saying 
anything  now,  but  still  I  hope  you  had  good  medical  sanction 
before  you  ventured  yourself  upon  it.  My  dear  child,  do  per- 
suade somebody,  from  a  general  sense  of  good-nature,  to  write 
me  a  few  lines  of  particulars  concerning  your  present  state, 


76  CHARLOTTE  CUSHMAN : 

and  how  you  get  on  with  the  cold  water ;  they  cannot  be  too 
minute.  If  any  old  nurse  would  write  I  should  have  a  chance 
of  hearing  more  than  any  of  your  clever  ones  could  think  of 
saying.  I  have  it !  Give  my  best  regards  to  your  Sallie,  and 
tell  her  to  write  me  a  letter  all  about  you  and  nothing  else  in 
nature.  I  am  very  grieved  that  rest  has  come  to  you  in  such 
a  miserable  guise,  but  it  will  be  the  means  of  saving  your  life. 
You  were  going  on  too  fast,  and  now,  when  you  are  once  set 
on  your  two  feet  again,  you  will  have  gained  more  power  than 
if  you  had  never  been  laid  low.  Be  patient,  my  dear  child, 
and  don't  chafe  or  fret  yourself.  This  rest,  thus  forced  upon 
you,  will  be  a  quarry  out  of  which  you  will  get  many  precious 
materials." 

Another  letter  refers  still  to  Malvern,  and  her  anxious 
fears  for  Miss  Cushman's  health,  which  had  suffered  much 
from  over-exertion. 

"  My  dearest  Child  :  You  are  in  a  bad  way  just  now,  and 
no  wonder;  you  have  had  enough  to  drive  to  distraction  a 
whole  regiment  of  merij  let  alone  women.  But  don't  distress 
yourself  too  much  in  your  own  heart;  your  depression  and 
discouragement,  your  weariness  and  vexation  of  spirit,  are  in  a 
great  measure  the  result  of  all  the  superhuman  exertions  you 
have  had  to  go  through  for  the  last  few  months.  Living  in 
London  society  does,  under  any  circumstances,  make  one  ex- 
quisitely sad,  and  you  have  had  its  essence,  doubly  and  trebly 
distilled  and  powerful.  You  must  expect,  and  cannot  help  but 
find,  a  reaction  as  strong  as  the  excitement  has  been.  The 
life  you  have  led,  the  success,  the  acclamations,  the  perfect 
glare  of  triumph  in  which  you  have  moved  for  the  last  few 
months,  are  almost  fabulous.  No  nervous  system  that  was 
ever  of  woman  born  could  stand  it :  you  are  a  perfect  miracle 
in  my  eyes  ;  but  you  are  proving  your  mortality  by  suffering. 
You  will  recover  your  balance,  never  fear.  Set  down  all  the 
wretchedness  and  morbid  discomfort  you  are  suffering  now 
just  to  physical  causes.     Think  of  them  just  as  a  headache  or 


HER  LIFE,  LETTERS,  AND  MEMORIES.  77 

an  illness ;  but  the  present  uneasiness  is  all  you  have  to  fear ; 
it  lies  no  deeper,  believe  me,  and  will  pass  away.  You  are 
overworked,  overstrained  altogether,  and  you  look  at  things 
in  general  as  we  are  apt  to  do  when  we  lie  awake  at  night ; 
everything  then  looks  black  and  haggard-like ;  there  is  noth- 
ing really  bad  or  wrong  the  matter,  so  do  not  make  yourself 
miserable.  It  is  bad  enough  to  suffer,  God  knows,  but  there 
is  no  worse  at  the  bottom,  and  that 's  a  comfort.  You  must 
contrive  not  to  do  so  much  another  year.  Your  'passion- 
ate work  '  will  kill  you  else  ;  for  though  nature  is  very  elastic, 
she  won't  stand  too  much.  Remember  what  I  am  saying 
is  not  fancy,  for  I  have  suffered  myself,  and  I  have  studied 
the  philosophy  of  the  thing,  and  so  I  consider  I  am  quaHfied 
to  speak,  and  you  are  to  believe  what  I  tell  you.  Do  you 
hearl" 

Following  Miss  Jewsbury's  letters  I  may  here  insert 
some  of  her  remembrances  of  Miss  Cushman  at  that  time, 
with  which  she  has  kindly  favored  me.     She  writes  :  — 

"  I  think  it  was  very  soon  after  she  arrived  in  England  for 
the  first  time  that  she  came  to  Manchester,  where  I  then 
resided.  She  brought  letters  to  me,  and  was  alone,  except 
for  Sallie,  her  faithful  maid,  who  I  hope  is  still  alive,  and  if 
so  I  beg  to  be  remembered  to  her  kindly.  I  suppose  Miss 
Cushman  was  not  handsome,  but  the  beautiful,  true,  and 
firm  gray  eyes  gave  me  the  impression  of  beauty,  and  sup- 
plied the  lack  of  it,  if  it  were  lacking.  To  me  she  always 
looked  beautiful.  Her  voice,  too,  was  true  and  real  like  her- 
self, and  of  a  tone  that  was  very  pleasant  to  the  ear.  She 
conveyed  the  impression  of  protection  and  strength. 

"  In  those  days  she  had  not  yet  begun  the  fight  and  struggle 
of  her  professional  career  in  England.  She  had  appeared  in 
London  in  Milman's  tragedy  of  '  Fazio,'  and  made  a  very  great 
impression.  In  Manchester  she  made  many  friends,  quiet, 
domestic  people,  who  regarded  her  with  affection  and  respect. 
She  was  noble  and  generous,  and  gave  help  to  whoever  needed 


78  CHARLOTTE   CUSHMAN  : 

it,  to  the  utmost  of  her  ability.  As  she  said  once  to  me  her- 
self, *  she  tried  always  to  keep  her  prow  turned  towards  good,' 
and  I  feel  sure  that  desire  underlay  the  whole  of  her  life. 

"  We  lost  sight  of  each  other,  as  was  only  natural  in  lives 
"which  lay  so  wide  apart.  The  last  year  she  was  in  England  I 
wrote  to  her ;  but  she  was  ill,  and  could  not  see  me.  Then 
came  her  apparent  recovery;  and  then  the  unexpected  end, 
when  all  her  friends  had  begun  to  hope  the  danger  was  past. 
Of  her  acting  in  some  of  her  characters  I  retain  a  vivid  recol- 
lection. Her  *  Meg  Merrilies,'  and  that  strange,  silent  spring  to 
the  middle  of  the  stage,  which  was  her  entrance  on  it,  can 
never  be  forgotten;  nor  the  tones  of  her  voice,  which  seemed 
to  come  from  another  world.  Madame  Vestris  said  that  *  Meg 
Merrilies  made  her  turn  cold.'  The  song  she  crooned  in  the 
part  was  exactly  as  Meg  would  have  given  it,  and  suggested 
no  other  person,  and  no  acting.  Indeed,  all  her  characters 
were  singularly  true  and  individual.  She  never  seemed  to 
display  herself  in  her  acting. 

"  I  remember  her  Mrs.  Haller  well.  She  seemed  to  absorb 
and  consume  all  the  false  sentiment  of  the  play,  and  to  elicit 
only  the  real  suffering  of  the  character,  and  the  tragical  truth 
that  nothing  can  undo  ill  deeds  once  done.  It  was,  I  think,  the 
character  in  which  she  most  impressed  me.  The  chief  charm 
of  her  acting  was,  as  I  remember  it,  its  intense  earnestness 
and  directness,  and  the  absence  of  all  self-consciousness  or  of 
any  desire  to  impress  herself  upon  the  spectator.  In  those 
days  she  used  to  sing  in  private  in  a  very  dramatic  and  re- 
markable manner.  It  is  so  long  ago,  that  I  am  afraid  I  have 
been  able  to  help  you  little ;  but  I  am  glad  to  make  my  record 
of  the  esteem  and  affection  in  which  I  held  her,  and  of  my 
admiration  for  the  single-handed  strife  she  carried  on  and  the 
uprightness  with  which  she  attained  at  last  her  fortune  and 
success.  It  will  be  a  help  and  comfort  to  many  who  are  now 
struggling  in  the  same  thorny  paths." 

The  above  remark  may  not  inappropriately  introduce 
a  few  extracts  from  letters  and  notes  written  at  this  time 


HER  LIFE,  LETTERS,  AND  MEMORIES.  79 

by  Miss  Cushman  to  a  young  friend  in  England,  who 
with  much  ability  and  ambition,  and  many  material 
lets  and  hindrances,  was  seeking  to  find  a  career,  and 
afterwards  by  Miss  Cushman's  assistance  successfully 
entered  the  dramatic  profession.  They  are  interesting  as 
showing  what  a  specialty  she  had  as  helper  and  comforter, 
and  how  well  she  could  minister  to  the  needs  of  the  spirit 
as  well  as  of  the  body,  in  the  midst  of  her  own  arduous 
labors. 

"  I  knew  all  you  have  told  me  of  your  circumstances,"  she 
writes,  "  before  I  spoke  to  you.  You  will  believe,  from  what  I 
have  told  you  of  my  own  character  and  study,  that  I  do  not 
recklessly  waste  my  feeling ;  and  when  you  ask  me  if  I  shall 
despise  you  for  your  employment,  you  little  know  the  admira- 
tion you  have  excited  in  me  by  your  capabilities,  and  I  admire 
you  all  the  more  for  not  despising  it  yourself  How  many 
there  are  who  have  a  horror  of  my  profession  !  Yet  I  dearly 
love  the  very  hard  work,  the  very  drudgery  of  it,  which  has 
made  me  what  I  am.  Despise  labor  of  any  kind  !  I  honor  it, 
and  only  despise  those  who  do  not  find  sufficient  value  in  it  to 
admire.  You  did  not  know  me  when  you  asked  me  if  I  would 
despise  you  for  it !  But  you  must  find  little  time  for  practis- 
ing music,  —  a  hard  and  labor-demanding  vocation.  I  have 
tried  it  myself,  therefore  am  fully  qualified  to  speak  of  it. 
Have  you  calculated  the  time  it  must  take  to  fit  you  for  a 
teacher,  and  are  you  able  to  give  your  whole  heart  to  it  1  For, 
indeed,  it  demands  it.  Your  gentleness  of  disposition  will  do 
much  for  you  in  it,  for  oh !  it  requires  more  patience  than 
brains.  But  you  have  brains  of  no  ordinary  kind,  that  would 
be  chained  into  a  narrow  compass  over  a  piano.  How  very 
many,  with  no  earthly  capacity, — mere  machines,  automata, — 
rise  to  eminence  as  pianists  and  teachers  of  the  piano ! 

"  It  seems  to  me  a  waste  of  God's  greatest  gift,  intellect. 
It  is  not  alone  poetry  that  you  write  well.  Your  notes  and 
letters  are  mature,  and  free  from  girlishness  or  mawkish  sen- 


80  CHAELOTTE  CUSHMAN  : 

timent.  You  write  as  freshly  as  you  think,  and  your  thoughts 
are  as  genuine  and  fresh  as  your  expression ;  and  I  could 
almost  grieve  over  those  circumstances  which  have  given  you 
more  confidence  in  this  than  in  your  other  gifts.  Would  not 
the  time  spent  upon  the  study  of  the  piano  prove  of  more 
serious  benefit  to  you  spent  in  the  study  of  the  poetic  art? 

*'  I  have  not  time  even  to  tell  you  what  I  think  of  your 
lines,  but  I  will  in  a  few  days.  Meantime  let  me  urge  you  to 
condense  your  thoughts,  to  bring  them  all  into  the  fewest 
words  possible.  Concentration  is  the  grand  merit  of  all  writ- 
ing as  well  as  all  action.  You  have  the  power  in  you,  and  you 
will  show  it. 

"  Now  that  I  know  your  ideas  upon  the  profession  you  are 
preparing  yourself  for,  I  have  not  a  word  to  say.  You  seemed 
to  me  '  young  thoughted.'  I  imagined  it  but  a  fancy  that 
possessed  you,  as  likely  to  bring  only  pleasure  in  its  employ- 
ment. I  know  the  toil  it  is.  I  know  the  wearying  work  it  is 
to  teach.  I  know  the  unceasing  and  untiring  patience  it  re- 
quires, and  I  feared  you  had  not  looked  upon  all  the  disagree- 
ables. However,  I  find  you  have^  and  you  seem  to  have  judged 
prudently.  But  were  your  situation  other  than  it  is,  were  more 
required  of  you  pecuniarily^  I  should  have  advised  anything 
on  earth  but  teaching  as  a  means  of  living.  Don't  let  any- 
thing that  I  have  said  cause  you  a  moment's  care  with  regard 
to  it.  I  think  I  told  you  in  my  last  that,  not  knowing  your 
idea,  I  was  not  competent  to  give  an  opinion ;  not  for  the 
world  would  I  interfere  with  what  seems,  as  you  present  it  to 
me,  prudent.  Yet  remembering  that,  no  matter  how  much 
you  teach,  you  must  be  kept  in  practice  yourself,  or  you  fail  to 
inspire  confidence,  I  feel  you  have  selected  a  laborious  profes- 
sion ;  but  God  speed  you,  and  give  you  patience,  which  is  all 
that  is  necessary. 

"  I  could  wish  you  would  endeavor  to  bring  your  poetical 
gift  more  under  subjection  ;  that  is,  that  you  would  study 
more  and  write  less.  You  say  change  is  necessary  to  prevent 
the  mind  exhausting  itself.     Don't  talk  at  your  age  of  the 


HER  LIFE,  LETTERS,  AND  MEMORIES.  81 

mind  being  exhausted  upon  any  subject.  You  have  much 
before  you,  and  reading  can  be  so  varied  as  to  make  a  con- 
stant change.  I  cannot  tell  you  how  much  I  admire  your 
letters,  and  the  free,  open  thought  you  express  in  them.  Pray 
continue  to  look  upon  me  as  one  to  whom  you  may  utter  all 
your  thinkings,  although  I  may  not  be  able  to  afford  you  all 
the  help  you  need  in  your  struggles  with  yourself.  Only  do 
not  lacerate  your  flesh  too  much." 

Here  an  interval  occurs,  during  which  the  idea  of  the 
stage  as  a  profession  seems  to  have  been  adopted.  The 
following  extracts  bear  reference  to  this  change  :  — 

"  I  should  advise  you  to  get  to  work ;  all  ideal  study  of 
acting,  without  the  trial  or  opportunity  of  trying  our  efforts 
and  conceivings  upon  others,  is,  in  my  mind,  lost  time.  Study 
while  you  act.  Your  conception  of  character  can  be  formed 
while  you  read  your  part,  and  only  practice  can  tell  you 
whether  you  are  right.  You  would,  after  a  year  of  study  in 
your  own  room,  come  out  unbenefited,  save  in  as  far  as  self- 
communion  ever  must  make  us  better  and  stronger ;  but  this 
is  not  what  you  want  just  now.  Action  is  needed.  Your  vital- 
ity must  in  some  measure  work  itself  off.  You  must  suffer, 
labor,  and  wait,  before  you  will  be  able  to  grasp  the  true  and 
the  beautiful.  You  dream  of  it  now  ;  the  intensity  of  life  that 
is  in  you,  the  spirit  of  poetry  which  makes  itself  heard  by  you 
in  indistinct  language,  needs  work  to  relieve  itself  and  be  made 
clear.  I  feel  diffident  about  giving  advice  to  you,  for  you 
know  your  own  nature  better  than  any  one  else  can,  but  I 
should  say  to  you,  get  to  work  in  the  best  way  you  can.  All 
your  country  work  will  be  wretched;  you  will  faint  by  the  way; 
but  you  must  rouse  your  great  strength  and  struggle  on,  bear- 
ing patiently  your  cross  on  the  way  to  your  crown  !  God  bless 
you  and  prosper  your  undertakings.  I  know  the  country 
theatres  well  enough  to  know  how  utterly  alone  you  will  be 
in  such  companies ;  but  keep  up  a  good  heart ;  we  have  only 
to  do  well  what  is  given  us  to  do,  to  find  heaven.  . 


82  CHAELOTTE  CUSHMAN  : 

"  Mr.  Barton  is  not  in  Bath  or  Bristol  now,  therefore  if  you 
were  to  go  you  would  not  be  getting  what  I  want  you  to  go 
there  for,  namely,  lessons  in  speaking,  —  to  know  the  capa- 
bilities of  your  own  voice,  and  how  to  manage  it." 

This  is  the  same  Mr.  Barton  whom  she  mentions  in 
her  New  Orleans  experiences  as  having  been  kind  to  her, 
and  with  whom  she  made  her  first  appearance  as  an 
actress,  on  the  occasion  of  his  benefit.  Times  were 
changed  with  him,  as  with  her,  and  she  was  enabled  in 
many  ways  substantially  to  return  the  kindness  he  had 
shown  her. 

"  I  think  if  you  have  to  wait  for  a  while  it  will  do  you  no 
harm.  You  seem  to  me  quite  frantic  for  immediate  work; 
but  teach  yourself  quiet  and  repose  in  the  time  you  are 
waiting.  With  half  your  strength  I  could  bear  to  wait  and 
labor  with  myself  to  conquer  fretting .  The  greatest  power  in 
the  world  is  shown  in  conquest  over  self.  More  life  will  be 
worked  out  of  you  by  fretting  than  all  the  stage-playing  in 
the  world.  God  bless  you,  my  poor  child.  You  have  indeed 
troubles  enough ;  but  you  have  a  strong  and  earnest  spirit, 
and  you  have  the  true  religion  of  labor  in  your  heart.  There- 
fore I  have  no  fears  for  you,  let  what  will  come.  Let  me 
hear  from  you  at  your  leisure,  and  be  sure  you  have  no 
warmer  friend  than  I  am  and  wish  to  be 

**  I  was  exceedingly  pleased  to  hear  such  an  account  of  your 
first  appearance.  You  were  quite  right  in  all  that  was  done, 
and  I  am  rejoiced  at  your  success.  Go  on  ;  persevere.  You 
will  be  sure  to  do  what  is  right,  for  your  heart  is  in  the  right 
place,  your  head  is  sound,  your  reading  has  been  good.  Your 
mind  is  so  much  better  and  stronger  than  any  other  person's 
whom  I  have  known  enter  the  profession,  that  your  career  is 
plain  before  you. 

"  But  I  will  advise  you  to  remain  in  your  own  native  town 
for  a  season,  or  at  least  the  winter.  You  say  you  are  afraid 
of  remaining  among  people  who  know  you.     Don't  have  this 


HER  LIFE,  LETTERS,  AND   MEMORIES.  83 

feeling  at  all.  You  will  have  to  be  more  particular  in  what  you 
do,  and  the  very  feeling  that  you  cannot  be  indifferent  to  your 
audience  will  make  you  take  more  pains.  Beside  this,  you 
will  be  at  home,  which  is  much  better  for  a  time ;  for  then 
at  first  you  do  not  have  to  contend  with  a  strange  home  as 
well  as  with  a  strange  profession.  I  could  talk  to  you  a 
volume  upon  this  matter,  but  it  is  difficult  to  write.  At  all 
events  I  hope  you  will  take  my  counsel  and  remain  at  home 
this  winter.  It  is  the  most  wretched  thing  imaginable  to  go 
from  home  a  novice  into  such  a  theatre  as  any  of  those  in  the 
principal  towns. 

"  Only  go  on  and  work  hard,  and  you  will  be  sure  to  make 
a  good  position.  With  regard  to  your  faults,  what  shall  I  say"? 
Why,  that  you  will  try  hard  to  overcome  them.  I  don't  think 
they  would  be  perceived  save  by  those  who  perhaps  imagine 
that  your  attachment  for  me  has  induced  you  to  join  the  pro- 
fession. I  have  no  mannerisms,  I  hope ;  therefore  any  imita- 
tion of  me  can  only  be  in  the  earnest  desire  to  do  what  you 
can  do,  as  well  as  you  can.  Write  to  me  often ;  ask  of  me 
what  you  will ;  my  counsel  is  worth  little,  but  you  shall  com- 
mand it  if  you  need  it." 

The  young  friend  to  whom  the  foregoing  letters  were 
addressed,  after  a  successful  theatrical  career  of  some 
years,  in  the  course  of  which  she  came  to  this  countiy 
and  acted  with  Miss  Cushman,  married  very  happily  and 
left  the  stage.  She  was  an  earnest,  faithful,  and  true  soul, 
and  her  grateful  devotion  to  Miss  Cushman  remained  un- 
changed to  the  day  of  her  death.  She  died  early ;  but 
while  she  lived  life  was  a  full,  bright,  and  sparkling  river 
to  her,  and  the  friends  she  brought  about  her,  —  friends 
chosen  from  the  best  literary  and  artistic  society  of  London. 
Her  house  was  one  of  Miss  Cushman's  chosen  resting- 
places.  Her  appreciation  of  it,  and  of  the  friends  it  con- 
tained, she  has  herself  recorded  in  several  of  her  letters. 

*'  I  have  never  known,"  she  says,  "  three  more  soul-satisfying 


84  CHAELOTTE  CUSHMAN : 

days  than  those  at  S D 's.    He  is  the  sweetest,  whitest 

soul  ill  his  home  you  ever  saw,  and  she  is  goodness  and  duty 
and  love  personified.  Clever  and  dominant  in  certain  things, 
but  with  a  power  of  submission  to  him,  and  all  she  loves,  as 
wondrous  in  these  days  of  toil  and  trouble  as  you  can  imagine 
anything  to  be,  and  as  extraordinary  the  one  as  the  other. 
You  don't  know  how  we  two  grow  and  thrive  in  this  atmos- 
phere. How  much  as  one's  own  individualities  are  respected 
and  loved  we  are  forced  by  (itmosphere  to  love  and  respect 
theirs.     They  were  three  perfect  days." 

It  was  at  this  house  she  first  met  Mrs.  Carlyle,  that 
wonderful  woman,  who  was  able  to  live  in  the  full  light 
of  Carlyle's  genius  and  celebrity  without  being  over- 
shadowed by  it ;  who  was  in  her  own  way  as  great  as  he, 
and  yet  who  lived  only  to  minister  to  him.  In  the  letter 
already  quoted  Miss  Cushman  describes  her  first  inter- 
view with  Mrs.  Carlyle  :  — 

"  On  Sunday,  who  should  come  self-invited  to  meet  me  but 
Mrs.  Carlyle  1  She  came  at  one  o'clock  and  stayed  until  eight. 
And  such  a  day  I  have  not  known  !  Clever,  witty,  calm,  cool, 
unsmiling,  unsparing,  a  raconteur  unparalleled,  a  manner  un- 
imitable,  a  behavior  scrupulous,  and  a  power  invincible,  —  a 
combination  rare  and  strange  exists  in  that  plain,  keen,  unat- 
tractive, yet  unescapable  woman  !  0,  I  must  tell  you  of  that 
day,  for  I  cannot  write  it !  After  she  left,  of  course  we  talked 
her  until  the  small  hours  of  the  morning." 

After  this  she  often  saw  Mrs.  Carlyle  in  her  own  house, 
and  had  the  privilege  also  of  seeing  the  Thunderer  him- 
self engaged  in  the  mundane  process  of  taking  his  tea 
like  any  ordinary  mortal,  and  hearing  him  talk  —  not  like 
any  other  mortal  that  ever  was  made,  for  no  creature  but 
himself  could  ever  say  the  things  he  said  and  in  the  way 
he  said  them.  When  in  the  right  mood,  and  to  the  right 
listeners,  Carlyle  was  gi-eater  than  his  books;  for  then 


HER  LIFE,  LETTERS,  AND  MEMORIES.  85 

manner  was  added  to  matter,  and  even  more  characteristic 
and  individual.  He  had  a  method  of  talking  on  and  on 
and  on  with  a  curious  rising  and  falling  inflection  of 
voice,  catching  his  breath  now  and  then  on  the  lower  key, 
and  then  going  on  again  in  the  higher,  in  the  broadest 
Scotch  accent,  and  ever  and  anon  giving  out  peals  of  the 
heartiest  laughter  over  his  own  extraordinary  pictures. 
This  peculiar  manner  of  speech  —  the  broad  accent,  the 
tremendous,  breathless  earnestness  which  he  would  infuse 
into  the  smallest  topic  if  it  were  one  which  anywhere 
touched  his  instincts  of  reformer  —  Miss  Cushman  imi- 
tated to  perfection. 

Meanwhile  his  wife,  quiet  and  silent,  assiduously  re- 
newed his  cup  of  tea,  or  by  an  occasional  word,  or  judi- 
cious note,  struck  just  at  the  right  moment,  kept  him 
going,  as  if  she  wielded  the  mighty  imagination  at  her 
pleasure,  and  evoked  the  thunder  and  the  sunshine  at  her 
will.  When  she  was  alone,  and  herseK  the  entertainer, 
one  became  aware  of  all  the  self-abnegation  she  practised, 
for  she  was  herself  a  remarkably  brilliant  talker,  and  the 
stories  of  quaint  wit  and  wisdom  which  she  poured  forth, 
the  marvellous  memory  which  she  displayed,  were  in  the 
minds  of  many  quite  as  remarkable  and  even  more  enter- 
taining than  the  majestic  utterances  of  her  gifted  husband. 
It  was  said  that  those  who  came  to  sit  at  his  feet  re-' 
mained  at  hers. 


CHAPTER    V. 


"Praising  what  is  lost 
Makes  the  remembrance  dear." 

All 's  Well  That  Ends  Well. 


ITH  some  furtlier  notes  and  memories,  kindly  fur- 
nished me  by  an  old  and  esteemed  friend  of  Miss 
Cushman's,  I  close  my  references  to  those  early 
days  in  England. 

"  I  shall  be  glad  to  try,"  he  writes,  "  whether  my  memory 
and  pen  enable  me  to  set  down  any  impressions  which  may 
interest  those  younger  friends  whose  acquaintance  with  her 
does  not  date  back,  as  mine  does,  more  than  a  quarter  of  a 
century.  It  is  in  fact  more  than  thirty  years  since  I  first 
paid  my  respects  to  Charlotte  Cushman  in  my  father's  house, 
soon  after  her  arrival  in  London  in  1845.  She  was  then  about 
thirty  years  of  age,  tall,  active,  bright  in  face  and  manner,  full 
of  wit  and  humor,  and  brilliant  in  manner  and  expression.  If 
I  were  asked  what  special  quality  distinguished  her  then,  and 
indeed  throughout  her  whole  life,  my  reply  would  be,  intensity  ; 
the  power  of  plunging  her  whole  mind  and  spirit,  and  indeed 
her  entire  self,  into  the  character  which  she  for  the  moment 
desired  to  personate.  She  was  for  the  time  that  very  character, 
that  man  Romeo,  that  woman  Juliana,  Viola,  or  Katharine. 
Not  that,  like  Garrick,  *  when  off  the  stage  always  acting ' ; 
far  from  it :  off  the  stage  she  was  invariably,  —  as  she  cor- 
dially expressed  it  in  Julia  in  *  The  Hunchback '  —  '  her 
open,  honest,  independent  self.' 


HER  LIFE,  LETTERS,  AND  MEMORIES.  87 

"  But  this  intensity f  as  I  shall  call  it,  characterized  her  en- 
tire being  and  the  current  of  all  her  thoughts  and  deeds.  It 
was  as  brightly  shown  in  private  life  as  on  the  public  stage. 
....  And  she  was  equally  intense,  with  an  honest  and  heart- 
felt sympathy,  when  sorrow  or  suffering  appealed  to  her.  I 
have  often  wondered  whether  comedy  or  tragedy  was  "hev  forte  ; 
but  in  truth  she  was  of  that  great  first  rank  in  the  histrionic 
art  where  no  such  distinctions  can  be  drawn.  It  was  not  mere 
nature  uneducated  and  unskilled,  but  nature  fostered  and 
trained  by  diligent  study  and  steady  application,  which  dic- 
tated to  her  genius  the  art  which  charmed  and  delighted 
the  world. 

"  Her  power  of  arresting  attention  and  commanding  silence 
was  most  remarkable,  and  never  more  so  than  in  the  crowded 
and  fashionable  London  circles.  At  a  grand  soiree  where  '  all 
London '  was  assembled  and  chattering,  even  while  distin- 
guished amateurs  were  singing  or  playing,  it  was  curious  to 
observe  the  dead  silence,  first  of  surprise,  then  of  admira- 
tion, produced  by  Miss  Cushman's  recitation  of  *  Lord  Ullin's 
Daughter.' 

"  At  the  time  of  her  arriving  in  England,  and  for  some  years 
after,  her  singing,  although  the  upper  notes  of  her  voice  had 
disappeared,  was  excellent  of  its  kind,  and  her  power  of  musi- 
cal declamation,  so  essential  to  good  ballad-singing,  was  re- 
markably fine.  To  hear  her  sing,  *  We  were  two  Daughters 
of  one  Race,'  or '  They  tell  me  Thou  'rt  the  Favored  Guest,'  was 
a  great  musical  treat,  full  not  only  of  dramatic  genius,  but  of 
pathos,  sweetness,  and  vigor.  Nor  was  it  less  remarkable  as 
a  work  of  art,  because  the  artist  was,  by  consummate  skill  and 
knowledge,  conquering  the  imperfections  of  an  organ  already 
almost  destroyed,  her  great  science  enabling  her  to  make  use 
of  what  remained,  while  the  intensity  of  her  feeling  absolutely 
riveted  her  audience.  Arriving  in  London,  not  only  an  un- 
known actress,  but  without  any  of  that  preliminary  flourish 
which  is  so  unfortunately  common  nowadays,  it  may  well  be 
understood  that  Miss  Cushman  had  no  small  trouble  in  obtain- 


88  CHARLOTTE  CUSHMAK: 

ing  a  suitable  d^but ;  but  I  believe  that  few  can  realize  the 
obstacles  of  every  kind  that  beset  her  course ;  and  even  when 
a  London  manager  had  determined  to  give  her  an  opportunity, 
there  was,  on  his  part,  an  utter  absence  of  cordial  support,  and 
an  entire  incapability  of  appreciating  the  genius  and  talents 
of  the  new  candidate  for  London  histrionic  honors.  It  was 
not  until  the  day  after  her  debut  that  the  lessee  of  the  Prin^ 
cess's  Theatre  began  to  see  that  he  had  in  his  hand  one  of 
the  trump  cards  of  the  game  which  he  was  engaged  in  playing ; 
and  even  then  his  nature  did  not  prompt  him  to  any  generous 
or  even  any  prudent  acceptance  of  the  services  of  the  greatest 
tragic  and  comic  actress  of  the  day.  But  a  very  few  nights 
convinced  all  London  that  she  had  merits  far  beyond  anything 
at  that  day  on  the  boards.  I  remember  when  a  boy  hearing 
it  observed  of  that  clever  and  versatile  actor,  Charles  Kemble, 
that  it  always  seemed  as  if  the  costume  of  each  character  was 
that  in  which  the  man  habitually  Uved,  and  that  whether  as 
Faulconbridge  he  *  strolled  into  Angiers,'  or  sprang  upon  the 
stage  as  Don  Felix,  he  was  in  dress  and  bearing  the  man 
whom  he  represented.  So  might  it  always  have  been  said  of 
Charlotte  Cushman,  whose  Queen  Katharine,  Julia,  Juliana, 
Lady  Macbeth,  and  Lady  Gay  Spanker  were  all  as  distinct 
and  clear  realities  as  nature  itself. 

"  In  1845  -  46  Miss  Cushman  was  certainly  fortunate  in  being 
associated  with  that  excellent  actor,  James  Wallack,  whose 
admirable  acting,  no  less  than  his  generous  advice,  rich  from 
long  experience  and  the  remembrance  of  bygone  years  of  fel- 
lowship with  the  Kembles,  Elliston,  Young,  Miss  O'Neill, 
Miss  Chester,  and  a  host  of  great  artists,  were  invaluable  to 
the  young  and  almost  unfriended  actress,  whose  fate  for  a 
time  trembled  in  the  scales  of  public  favor.  Recalling  a  few 
of  the  triumphs  of  that  time,  passing  over  Bianca  in  *  Fazio,' 
of  which  nothing  remains  unsaid,  my  mind  reverts  pleasantly 
to  the  genuine  success  of  her  Julia  in  '  The  Hunchback,'  with 
its  admirable  cast,  —  Mrs.  Sterling  as  Helen  in  the  height  of 
her  charms  and  winning  humor,   Leigh  Murray  as  Clifford, 


HER  LIFE,  LETTERS,  AND  MEMORIES.  89 

and  Wallaok   as   Master  Walter,  —  the  former  in  Sheridan 

■Knowles's  odd  phrase,  *  a  d d  picturesque  fellow,'  and  the 

latter,  according  to  the  same  eccentric  authority,  'the  best 
Hunchback  ever  seen ;  I  never  understood  the  character  be- 
fore.' The  manner  in  which  Julia's  face  was  made  up  in  this 
play,  with  its  youthful  freshness  and  comeliness,  was  per- 
fectly wonderful  to  those  who  had  seen  Charlotte  in  private 
life,  and  to  whom,  delightful  as  the  woman  and  the  artist 
were,  her  plainness  and  the  almost  strange  cut  of  her  features 
were  familiar.     But  just  as 

*  Pritchard  was  genteel  and  Ganick  six  feet  high,' 
SO  Charlotte  Cushman  was  lovely,  elegant,  youthful,  and  es- 
piegle. 

"  Time  will  not  serve,  even  if  I  were  capable  of  doing  any 
justice  to  my  recollections  of  her  varied  gifts  and  powers,  and 
of  the  parts  wherein  she  displayed  them ;  all  these  crowd  on 
my  memory  as  bright  visions  of  the  past,  which,  with  no  un- 
kindly feeling  toward  the  younger  artists  of  to-day,  we  cannot 
expect  again  to  see  ;  for  the  system  of  things  is  changed,  and 
trained  companies  of  Shakespearian  artists  can  hardly  now  be 
assembled. 

"  There  never  was  a  spark  of  jealousy  or  disdain  toward  her 
sister  or  brother  artists  in  Charlotte's  character,  none  more 
ready  to  praise,  none  more  happy  in  being  able  to  give  en- 
couragement to  her  fellows.  But  of  late  years  how  could 
she  fail  to  see  and  lament  over  the  poor  material  put  upon 
the  stage,  and  the  uneducated,  ignorant  men  and  women  who 
jostled  the  best  actors  and  actresses  off  the  boards  % 

"  When  I  saw  her  last,  at  Hampstead,  it  was  this  which 
made  her  shrewdly  observe,  with  mixed  sarcasm  and  judg- 
ment, that  she  began  to  doubt  whether  she  ever  had  really 
been  an  artist,  whether  her  rules  and  practice  had  not  been 
all  wrong,  and  whether  the  rising  generation  had  not  discov- 
ered the  true  art  of  acting.  *  True,'  she  observed,  *  we  of  the 
old  school  endeavored  to  "hold  the  mirror  up  to  nature,  to 
show  virtue  her  own  features,  scorn  her  own  image,  and  the 


90  CHAELOTTE  CUSHMAN  : 

very  age  and  body  of  the  time  his  form  and  pressure."  So 
Hamlet  had  taught  us,  and  so  we  tried  to  act ;  but  our  houses 
grew  empty,  sensation  drama  and  all  the  tribe  of  burlesque  fill 
the  houses,  and  if  Shakespeare  is  played  it  is  but  to  display  a 
single  actor's  genius  or  folly.  We  must  have  been  altogether 
wrong —  or  the  public.'" 

In  March  of  1848  her  sister  Susan  was  married  to  Dr. 
James  Sheridan  Muspratt  of  Liverpool,  and  left  the  stage. 

In  August,  1849,  she  sailed  again  for  America,  fulfilling 
engagements  throughout  the  country,  and  everywhere  fol- 
lowed by  the  prestige  of  her  European  celebrity.  One  or 
two  extracts  from  letters  are  all  we  have  to  illustrate  this 
period. 

Chorley  writes  in  March,  1850 :  — 

"  Though  my  note  had  not  reached  you  when  you  wrote  to 
me  from  New  Orleans  on  the  7th  of  last  month,  I  hope  you 
have  received  it  ere  this,  since  it  would  remind  you  that  the 
'  reciprocity  is  not  all  on  one  side,'  but  that  I  can  remember 
you  as  well  as  you  me.  With  all  my  heart  do  I  rejoice  in  the 
accounts  you  send  me  of  your  thrivings  and  successes.  I 
heard  as  much  from  some  of  your  friends  here,  but  I  am  truly 
glad  to  see  the  thing  accredited  in  your  own  handsome  hand- 
writing ;  only  don't  stop  in  America  till  you  get  thirty  thou- 
sand pounds,  because  perhaps  by  that  time  you  will  not  need 
England  again ;  and  -that  I  should  not  like,  since  I  shall  never 
see  America ;  and  if  you  are  very  long  of  coming,  you  will 
hardly  see  me,  I  think,  so  worn  to  the  very  hones  of  my  mind 
do  I  feel,  without  the  possibility  of  slackening  in  the  exertion 
to  keep  on  my  legs.  You  had  small  need  to  tell  me  how  you 
found  America.  I  am  convinced,  having  read  every  line  I 
could  read  on  the  subject,  seen  and  conversed  and  made  friends 
with  many  Americans,  that  I  have  a  true,  clear  idea  of  what  I 
should  find  there.  At  all  events,  't  is  just  what  you  describe. 
I  should  enjoy  the  originals  which  such  a  new  land  must  yield ; 


HER  LIFE,  LETTERS,  AND  MEMORIES.  91 

but  I  shall  never  see  them,  —  no,  not  if  Mr.  Barnum  would 
give  me  one  thousand  pounds  for  '  Duchess  Elinor '  !  I  am 
getting  old  and  sore  afraid ;  very  much  like  the  '  Cottage 
Maid '  in  the  circulating  libraries,  *  all  in  pieces.'  Well,  I  am 
enchanted  at  your  prosperity." 

In  this  letter  Mr.  Chorley  makes  a  strong  appeal  to  her 
in  behalf  of  his  play,  which  was  afterwards  produced  on 
her  return  to  England  in  1854,  but  did  not  make  a  suc- 
cess. 

In  a  letter  under  date  March  27,  1850,  New  Orleans, 
we  find  it  stated,  that  although  theatrical  business  was 
dull  throughout  the  South,  Miss  Cushman's  engagement 
was  immensely  successful ;  a  longer  engagement  than  was 
ever  played  by  a  star  before.  In  those  days  very  long 
runs  were  not  as  common  as  they  have  since  become. 
The  nightly  average  of  receipts  was  greater  than  even 
Mr.  Macready's.  Erom  !N"ew  Orleans  she  went  to  Savan- 
nah, Cliarleston,  Washington,  Baltimore,  Philadelphia,  and 
New  York. 

In  July,  in  consequence  of  news  of  a  friend's  serious 
illness  in  England,  she  took  six  weeks  from  her  engage- 
ments and  crossed  the  ocean,  returning  on  the  4th  of 
August,  and  remaining  in  the  States  until  May  15,  1852, 
when  she  took  her  farewell  at  the  old  Broadway  Theatre, 
acting  in  the  interval  at  Brougham's  Lyceum  and  at  the 
Astor  Place  Opera-House. 

In  July  of  this  year  we  find  her  in  Liverpool,  on  a 
visit  to  Seaforth  Hall ;  in  August  at  the  Isle  of  Wight ;  in 
September  and  October  alternating  between  London  and 
Liverpool.  On  October  15th  she  made  her  first  visit  to 
Eome,  in  company  with  several  travelling  friends ;  among 
them  Miss  Harriet  Hosmer,  who  was  then  on  her  way  to 
study  art  in  Eome,  and  Grace  Greenwood,  the  well-known 
writer.     The  winter  was  spent  in  the  ways  so  well  known 


92  CHAELOTTE  CUSHMAN  : 

to  all  tourists,  with  the  most  earnest  enjoyment  and  un- 
ceasing activity  in  the  pursuit  of  it,  varied  by  sittings  to 
artists,  among  them  to  Mr.  W.  Page,  whose  portrait  of  her 
is  now  in  Newport.  It  was  much  praised  at  the  time, 
and  is  undoubtedly  an  excellent  bit  of  color,  but  as  a  like- 
ness it  is  decidedly  weak.  No  artist  but  the  sim  (notably 
the  last  photograph  by  Gutekunst,  of  Philadelphia)  was 
ever  able  to  give  the  mingled  strength  and  sweetness  of 
her  wonderful  face.  Page's  portrait,  however,  inspired  a 
true  poet  and  artist,  the  late  Paul  Akers,  with  the  follow- 
ing tribute,  which,  as  it  embodies  the  feeling  which  ought 
to  have  existed  in  the  portrait,  may  not  be  uninteresting 
to  transcribe  here.  Taking  it  with  reference  to  her,  it 
much  more  fitly  suggests  the  Gutekunst  portrait,  which 
is  unequalled  in  its  embodiment  of  all  that  the  great  and 
noble  face  had  become  through  its  years  of  labor,  of  tri- 
umph, and  of  suffering. 

Page's  Portrait  of  Charlotte  Cushman. 

"  It  is  a  face  rendered  impressive  by  the  grandest  repose,  — 
a  repose  that  pervades  the  room  and  the  soul ;  a  repose  not 
to  be  mistaken  for  serenity,  but  which  is,  however,  in  equilib- 
rium. No  brilliancy  of  color,  no  elaboration  of  accessories, 
attracts  the  attention  of  the  observer.  There  is  no  need  of 
these.  But  he  who  is  worthy  of  the  privilege  stands  suddenly 
conscious  of  a  presence  such  as  the  world  has  rarely  known. 
He  feels  that  the  embodiment  before  him  is  the  record  of  a 
great  past  as  well  as  the  reflection  of  a  proud  present,  —  a 
past  in  which  the  soul  has  ever  borne  on  and  through  and 
above  all  obstacles  of  discouragement  and  temptation  to  a 
success  which  was  its  inheritance.  He  sees,  too,  the  possibili- 
ties of  the  near  future  ;  how  from  that  line  equipoise  the  soul 
might  pass  out  into  rare  manifestations,  appearing  in  the 
sweetness  and  simplicity  of  a  little  child,  in  the  fearful  tumul- 
tuousness  of  '  Lady  Macbeth,'  in  the  passionate  tenderness  of 


HER  LIFE,  LETTERS,  AND  MEMORIES.  93 

*  Romeo,*  or  in  the  gothic  grandeur  of  the  Scotch  sorceress  ; 
in  the  love  of  kindred,  in  the  fervor  of  friendship,  and  in  the 
nobleness  of  the  truest  womanhood." 

This  was  written  twenty-seven  years  ago,  and,  read  in 
the  light  of  the  life  which  followed  after,  may  be  looked 
upon  as  an  almost  prophetic  utterance,  and  a  striking 
manifestation  of  the  true  poetic  instinct  which  enabled 
the  writer  to  see  beyond  the  pictured  face  into  the  noble 
individuality  which  it  sought  to  interpret,  and  to  feel  all 
its  possibilities  in  the  coming  years  through  the  atmos- 
phere which  it  created  in  the  painter's  studio.  This  is 
the  supreme  gift  which  fuses  all  the  arts  in  the  alembic 
of  its  own  consciousness,  and  brings  forth  the  pure  ore  of 
truth  and  beauty  to  the  light  of  day.  It  may  be  said 
also  that  "  the  fine  equipoise  of  soul,"  passing  out  in  rare 
manifestations,  found  its  ultimate  and  consummate  flow- 
ering in  the  dramatic  readings, — wherein  the  artist,  freed 
from  all  surrounding  lets  and  hindrances,  stood  alone,  acted 
alone,  and  filled  each  role,  passing  "  from  grave  to  gay,  from 
lively  to  severe,"  with  a  power,  a  pathos,  and  a  humor 
unsurpassed  in  this  or  any  foregone  period. 

There  are  many  portraits  of  her  in  and  out  of  character. 
An  early  one  by  Sully  is  interesting,  though  with  the  same 
fault  of  want  of  character,  which  never  could  have  been 
the  fault  of  her  face.  In  this  head  she  looks  to  be  about 
seventeen,  and  there  is  a  singular  brightness  and  sunni- 
ness  of  aspect ;  the  eyes  are  lovely,  and  look  forth  trust- 
ingly and  hopefully.  Artists  who  attempted  her  likeness 
erred  either  on  one  side  or  the  other;  they  made  her 
either  insipidly  weak,  in  the  effort  to  soften  certain  points, 
which  were  certainly  not  artistically  beautiful,  or  they  lost 
sight  of  the  tenderness  and  sweetness  in  the  strength,  and 
exaggerated  the  latter.  It  was  very  easy  to  make  an  ugly 
likeness  of  her,  but  those  who  did  so  saw  only  the  out- 
side of  her. 


94  CHARLOTTE  CUSHMAN  : 

Toward  the  spring  of  this  year  she  made  the  usual  ex- 
cursion to  Naples  and  its  neighborhood,  returning  by  way 
of  Civita  Vecchia  to  Leghorn  and  Florence.  In  Florence 
she  saw  the  Brownings,  whose  acquaintance  she  had  made 
some  time  before  in  Paris.  Leaving  Italy,  she  returned 
by  way  of  the  Italian  lakes  and  Switzerland  to  Paris, 
arriving  on  the  5th  of  July  in  England,  and  making  her 
usual  visit  to  Great  Malvern,  to  get  a  little  building  up 
by  water-treatment  for  the  London  season  of  1854. 

Commencing  December  15  at  Liverpool,  she  acted  during 
January,  February,  and  March  in  London.  In  March  "  The 
Duchess  Elinor  "  was  produced  and  acted  only  two  nights. 
In  April  she  acts  again  in  Liverpool  and  in  May  in  Lon- 
don, Birmingham,  and  Sheffield.  In  June  she  makes  an 
excursion  to  Paris,  for  the  pleasure  of  a  young  friend 
whose  health  was  delicate,  and  was  recalled  to  England 
by  the  iUness  and  death  of  Mrs.  Muspratt's  youngest 
child,  Ida. 

I  find  among  her  letters  one  to  her  sister  on  the  death 
of  this  child,  which  is  so  full  of  tender  sadness  and  brave 
submission  that  I  cannot  omit  it. 

"  I  grieve  from  my  heart,  dear  Sue,  for  all  your  sadness  and 
depression  ;  but  can  you  not  think  that  God's  will  is  best,  that 
perhaps  you  needed  something  to  draw  you  nearer  to  heaven, 
and  so  this  best  and  purest  and  dearest  was  taken  to  remind 
you  that  only  such  can  inherit  the  kingdom  of  heaven  in  all 
its  purity,  and  that  your  whole  aim  must  be  to  fit  yourself  to 
be  able  to  join  her  there  1  That  the  taking  away  of  this  lovely 
child  was  for  some  good  and  wise  purpose,  though  through 
our  earthly  eyes  we  cannot  recognize  it,  we  are  bound  in 
humble  confidence  to  trust  and  believe ;  and  in  striving  more 
to  do  God's  will,  in  aiming  for  a  more  truly  Christian  life,  we 
shall  show  that  we  feel  his  wisdom  and  power,  and  are  willing 
to  bow  unto  it,  eager  only  to  be  fitted  to  rejoin  her  at  the  last. 


HER  LIFE,  LETTERS,  AND  MEMORIES.  95 

How  hard  it  would  be  to  die,  if  we  had  all  the  joys  and  hap- 
piness that  we  could  desire  here  !  The  dews  of  autumn  pene- 
trate into  the  leaves  and  prepare  them  for  their  fall.  But 
for  the  dews  of  sorrow  upon  the  heart,  we  should  never  be 
prepared  for  the  sickle  of  the  destroyer.  And  so  does  God 
wean  us  from  this  world  by  taking  what  we  love  most  to  his 
world ;  and  the  purer  he  takes  them,  the  nearer  are  they  to 
his  glorious  presence,  the  more  blessed  and  blessing  angels, 
who  ever  see  his  face.  Could  you  wish  her  back  from  this  1 
Could  you  be  willing  that  she  should  ever  know  again  the 
chances  of  such  suffering  as  you  witnessed  in  her  little  ago- 
nized frame  ]  No,  I  am  sure  not ;  and  if  one  of  God's  angels 
should  give  you  the  choice,  you  would  say  with  uplifted  hands, 
*  Keep  her,  0  God,  from  the  suffering  and  sorrow  she  knew 
even  in  her  little  life ;  keep  her  ever  near  thee  ! '  And  you 
must  try  not  to  grieve  too  deeply,  for  sorrow  in  such  a  case 
is  almost  rebellion.  Feel,  as  you  kneel  to  God  morning  and 
night,  that  it  is  her  spirit  which  takes  you  there,  and  ever 
mediates  between  you  and  him.  Feel  that  she  is  ever  near 
you  ;  and  if  there  can  be  a  torture  hereafter,  it  must  be  in 
seeing  the  hearts  of  those  we  loved  and  who  best  loved  us 
bleeding  for  our  loss.  That  you  will  and  must  miss  her  is 
most  certain,  and  this  will  be  wherever  you  may  be  situated. 
Even  I,  who  saw  so  little  of  her,  never  think  of  any  of  you 
without  missing  her  smile  and  pretty  ways.  How  much  more, 
then,  must  you !  But  if  you  suffer  it  to  be  a  means  of  bringing 
you  nearer  to  God  and  heaven,  you  will  find  in  time  that  it 
will  prove  a  tender  rather  than  a  harrowing  sorrow,  and  you 
will  be  indeed  saying,  *  Thy  will  be  done.'  I  know  it  seems 
almost  folly  in  me  to  attempt  to  write  you  upon  such  a  sub- 
ject, but  I  have  felt  so  much,  — do  feel  so  much  for  you  in 
it,  —  that  I  must  say  what  little  I  can  to  induce  you  not  to 
despond,  and  to  trust  to  a  higher  Power  than  wecan  under- 
stand, but  who  ordains  everything  for  our  good,  and  who 
chastens  in  love  and  merciful  kindness." 

The  summer  of  1854  is  spent  between  London,  Brigh- 


96  CHARLOTTE  CUSHMAN : 

ton,  and  the  Isle  of  Wight,  visiting  friends  and  making 
various  excursions.  During  September,  October,  and  No- 
vember she  is  acting  in  Dublin  and  other  places,  mak- 
ing an  extended  tour  in  the  provinces.  At  Brighton,  in 
December,  she  dines  with  the  Duke  of  Devonshire,  and 
reads  "  Henry  VIII."  to  a  distinguished  circle. 

In  January  of  this  year  she  took  possession  of  her 
delightful  home  in  London,  Bolton  Eow,  Mayfair,  where 
for  some  years  she  dispensed  the  most  charming  and 
genial  hospitality.  The  musical  parties  she  gave  there 
are  well  remembered  by  many.  All  that  London  afforded 
of  best  in  that  and  kindred  arts  found  there  a  congenial 
field  for  their  exercise.  One  notable  entertainment  was 
a  dinner  which  she  gave  to  Eistori,  on  the  occasion  of  her 
first  visit  to  England  in  1856.  She  had  met  Eistori  in 
Paris,  seen  her  act,  and  had  a  great  admiration  for  her, 
as  she  had  also  for  Salvini,  and  for  Italian  acting  gener- 
ally. She  preferred  the  natural  school  of  acting  as  dis- 
tinct from  the  conventional.  She  was  herself  a  splendid 
example  of  this  school,  notwithstanding  her  long  stage 
experience ;  and  the  Italians,  who  are  born  actors,  even  in 
private  life,  always  delighted  her.  In  saying  they  are 
born  actors,  even  in  private  life,  I  do  not  mean  to  say 
they  are  actors  in  the  sense  of  being  hjrpocrites  or  false, 
but  simply  that  they  "  suit  the  action  to  the  word  and 
the  word  to  the  action,"  and  are  free,  untrammelled,  and 
graceful  in  all  their  movements,  so  much  so  as  to  have 
become  above  any  other  people  types  of  the  picturesque 
in  manner,  gesture,  and  attitude.  The  poorest  peasant  in 
the  Campagna  cannot  take  an  ungraceful  attitude ;  and 
you  will  see  them  standing,  leaning  on  their  long  poles 
or  shrouded  in  their  ragged  blankets,  perfect  pictures, 
relieved  against  the  wondrous  colors  of  earth  and  sky. 
Through  this  irresistible  attraction  toward  the  absolutely 


HER  LIFE,  LETTERS,  AND  MEMORIES.  97 

true,  Miss  Cushman  preferred  Eistori  to  Eachel.  They 
were  great  friends,  meeting  and  communicating  on  some 
plane  known  only  to  their  two  selves,  but  apparently  quite 
satisfactory  to  both.  Miss  Cushman  never  had  the  advan- 
tage of  a  knowledge  of  foreign  tongues ;  but  to  observe 
from  a  distance  these  two  in  conversation  was  quite  beau- 
tiful, the  animation  and  interest  of  each  seemingly  supply- 
ing all  deficiencies.  Afterwards  when  residence  in  Eome 
had  given  Miss  Cushman  some  knowledge  of  Italian,  Eis- 
tori came  there,  and  their  first  meeting  took  place  unex- 
pectedly on  the  Pincian.  Eistori  was  walking,  and  Miss 
Cushman  descended  from  her  carriage  and  ran  to  meet 
her,  pouring  forth  a  warm  greeting  in  Italian.  Eistori 
held  up  her  hands,  exclaiming,  "Brava!  brava!"  with 
enthusiasm,  and  then  both  united  in  a  hearty  laugh. 
Charlotte  Cushman  said,  in  describing  this  scene  to  a 
friend,  "  I  don't  know  what  I  said,  but  I  threw  all  the 
Italian  I  had  at  her  pell-mell,  and  she  understood  me,  as 
she  always  does."  The  Eistori  dinner  was  unique  in  its 
way ;  everything  Italianissimo  as  far  as  the  resources  of 
London  would  permit,  —  cooks,  waiters,  dishes,  aU  Italian ; 
the  chief  cook  turning  himself  into  a  waiter  for  the  pleas- 
ure of  looking  at  Eistori.  The  table  was  decorated  with 
the  Italian  colors,  and  the  dress  of  the  hostess  also  dis- 
played "  the  mystical  tricolor  bright,"  — 

**  Red  for  the  patriot's  blood. 
Green  for  the  martyr's  cro\vii, 
"White  for  the  dew  and  the  rime, 
"When  the  morning  of  God  comes  down."  * 

During  these  later  years  in  England  we  have  but  a 
barren  record  of  her  movements  and  doings,  not  much 
more  than  names  and   dates   and   places.      Letters   are 

•  Mrs.  Browning. 


98  CHARLOTTE  CUSHMAN  : 

almost  wholly  wanting.  We  know  briefly  but  surely  that 
she  was  living  a  life  of  intense  activity,  full  of  work, 
equally  full  of  genial  human  interest  and  sympathy. 
The  bare  record  of  letters  written  and  received  fills  us 
with  wonder  that  so  much  could  have  been  done,  and  so 
much  which  came  out  of  the  fulness  of  a  great  soul  and 
warm  heart  could  have  been  suffered  to  disappear  so 
utterly  !     Yet  so  it  seems  to  be  in  this  planet,  — 

"  Our  lives  are  like  the  print  which  feet 
Have  made  on  Tempe's  desert  strand  ; 
Soon  as  the  rising  tide  shall  beat, 
All  trace  will  vanish  from  the  sand." 

The  tide  of  other  interests,  of  other  excitements,  effaces 
our  impress,  however  deep  it  may  have  been,  and  we  live 
no  longer,  except  perhaps  in  one  or  two  faithful  hearts. 

I  will  make  a  few  extracts  from  a  sort  of  diary  or 
memoranda  which  she  always  kept.  It  is  only  a  record, 
as  I  have  said,  of  the  mere  outside  of  her  life,  kept  with 
a  neatness,  clearness,  and  punctuality  entirely  her  own. 
She  was,  as  all  the  world  knows,  a  clever  woman  of  busi- 
ness ;  and  it  is  useful  in  its  way,  it  fixes  many  things,  but 
it  is  like  the  dry  bones  of  a  once  living,  loving  organism, 
from  which  all  warmth  and  breath  have  departed. 

From  February  28  to  April  13, 1855,  we  find  her  acting 
her  usual  round  of  characters  in  the  provinces.  Through 
May,  at  the  Haymarket  Theatre,  London ;  in  June,  at 
Liverpool,  and  again  in  London,  acting  for  Buckstone's 
benefit.  In  July  she  makes  the  tour  of  the  English 
lakes,  goes  to  Ripon,  Fountain's  Abbey,  Skipton,  Bolton, 
etc. ;  in  August,  to  Devonshire,  Lynton,  Ilfracombe,  Glas- 
tonbury, Bristol,  Cheltenham,  and  Malvern ;  then  to 
Worcester,  Bolton  Abbey,  Ripon,  and  Newcastle,  where 
on  October  1  she  acts ;  also  at  Sunderland,  Manchester, 
Liverpool,  Birmingham,  and  back  to  London,  where  she 


HER  LIFE,  LETTERS,  AND  MEMORIES.  99 

fulfils  a  month's  engagement  at  the  Haymarket,  and  after 
acts  at  Sheffield,  Wolverhampton,  and  Bristol. 

In  January,  1856,  she  again  acts  at  the  Haymarket  in 
"  She  Stoops  to  Conquer,"  after  which,  up  to  the  end  of 
March,  we  find  her  occupied  with  social  life  in  London, 
breaking  from  this  for  another  short  engagement  at  the 
Haymarket,  Birmingham,  Sadler's  Wells,  Norwich,  and 
Yarmouth,  and  an  excursion  to  the  Wicklow  Lakes, 
Killarney,  and  all  the  various  points  of  interest  in  Ireland. 

September  6  she  acts  in  Dublin;  October  1,  visits 
Edinburgh,  Melrose,  Dryburgh  Abbey,  Abbotsford,  Stir- 
ling, the  Trosachs,  etc.,  alternating  work  with  play  in  her 
usual  energetic  manner. 

With  this  specimen  of  the  diary,  I  think  I  shall  leave 
it,  or  only  refer  to  it  when  some  name  or  date  is  needed 
in  another  connection.  I  give  thus  much  of  it  here  to 
show  the  immense  activity  and  fulness  of  her  life  at  this 
time,  which  was  shortly  to  be  merged  in  the  comparatively 
greater  repose  of  her  Eoman  period. 

But  even  this  diary  fails  by  some  chance  for  the  winter 
of  1856-57,  though  we  know  that  she  passed  it  in  Eome. 
A  note  of  farewell  from  Mr.  Chorley,  dated  November, 
1856,  is  interesting  as  giving  an  instance  of  Miss  Cush- 
man's  never-failing  kindness,  exercised  always  in  ways 
which  most  nearly  touched  the  hearts  of  the  recipients. 
In  this  note  he  asks  her  to  visit  the  English  burial-ground 
in  Eome,  and  bring  him  a  leaf,  a  blade  of  grass,  from  the 
tomb  of  a  friend  there,  of  whom  he  says  :  — 

"  In  her  I  lost  the  dearest,  kindest  friend  I  ever  had.  It  is 
weak  work,  relic-gathering,  but  the  greater  part  of  my  life  is 
filled  with  thoughts  of  the  dead  and  gone,  and  I  don't  indulge 
the  weakness  often." 

Another  letter  in  April,  1856,  refers  again  to  the  sub- 
ject.    He  says :  — 


100  CHAELOTTE  CUSHMAN  : 

"  I  was  truly  glad  to  see  yours  of  the  10th ;  not  that  if  no 
letter  had  come  I  should  have  felt  myself  forgotten,  but  be- 
cause it  would  be  difficult  to  make  any  one  understand  the 
refreshment  which  a  little  kindly  intercourse  is  to  a  person 
whose  life  is  so  solitary  as  mine  j  and  so  I  am  perhaps  dispro- 
portionately thankful  for  being  remembered  visibly.  I  thank 
you  affectionately  for  your  woman's  tact  and  kindness  in 
caring  for  the  grave  I  asked  after.  She  who  lies  there  was 
one  of  the  truest  and  most  exquisite  natures  I  have  ever  ap- 
proached, and  to  whom  I  owe  more  than  I  can  ever  pay.  The 
tears  I  have  wept  over  your  kindness  have  done  me  good." 

It  was  in  the  winter  of  1856-57  that  the  compiler  of 
these  memoirs  first  made  Miss  Cushman's  acquaintance, 
and  from  that  time  the  current  of  their  two  lives  ran, 
with  rare  exceptions,  side  by  side.  We  were  in  Eome, 
as  "  travellers  and  pilgrims  "  to  the  famous  city.  She  had 
already  passed  one  winter  there,  —  that  of  1853,  —  but 
this  was  my  first  experience. 

She  came  late ;  and  her  advent  had  been  heralded  by 
many  warm  friends  as  something  which  would  add  greatly 
to  the  pleasures  of  the  season.  We  soon  found  that  the 
voice  of  fame  had  not  exaggerated  her  attractions.  No 
salon  seemed  complete  without  her,  and  her  potent  charm 
enhanced  all  the  delights  of  the  place.  I  remember  our 
first  meeting  was  on  the  occasion  of  a  reading  given  by  a 
gentleman  who,  having  become  possessed  with  the  idea 
that  he  resembled  Shakespeare,  supplemented  the  attrac- 
tion by  appearing  in  the  costume  of  the  Shakespearian 
epoch.  We  were  much  impressed  by  the  simple  and 
kindly  interest  Miss  Cushman  took  in  the  entertainment, 
not  fully  realizing  then  how  the  crude  effort  must  have 
struck  upon  her  cultivated  artistic  sense.  It  was  one  of 
her  chief  attributes,  as  it  is  always  an  attribute  of  true 
genius,  to  be  able  to  enjoy,  without  too  close  analysis,  any 


HER  LIFE,  LETTERS,  AND  MEMORIES.       '     '    'lOl 

effort,  even  in  her  own  art,  which  had  the  least  flavor  of 
the  true  in  it,  or  even  an  aspiration  toward  it ;  and  when 
that  was  wanting,  her  feeling  was  never  one  of  harsh  or 
unfriendly  criticism. 

She  had  a  party  of  friends  with  her  at  this  time,  as 
usual,  and  was  full  of  active  effort  for  their  pleasure.  It 
was  a  busy  winter.  Eome  had  not  then  even  a  prevision 
of  the  changes  which  have  since  been  so  strangely  wrought. 
She  was  in  all  her  glory,  as  the  religious  metropolis  of  the 
world,  and  passed  through  all  her  ecclesiastical  phases, 
with  the  exact  precision  of  a  divine  law,  "  not  one  jot  or 
one  tittle  of  which  could  be  abated  without  eternal  con- 
fusion thereby  resulting."  Eome  was  then  what  she  can 
never  be  again.  More  happy,  more  prosperous  she  may 
be  under  liberal  rule,  but  equally  interesting  she  can 
never  be.  Even  then,  those  who  had  known  her  still 
earlier  were  deploring  innovations  and  changes  trifling  in 
comparison  with  what  has  since  taken  place;  but  to  those 
who  saw  the  wondrous  city  then  for  the  first  time,  for  the 
first  time  tasted  its  magic  circle  of  delights,  it  was'  hard 
to  find  a  flaw  or  feel  a  disappointment.  Miss  Cushman 
entered  into  all  its  pleasures  with  a  keen  appreciation, 
which  imparted  its  own  ardent  zest  to  all  with  whom  she 
came  in  contact.  She  was  then  in  the  fulness  and  frui- 
tion of  all  her  powers.  There  has  been  much  question 
as  to  her  personal  appearance.  Those  who  loved  her  well 
never  made  any  question  about  it.  There  was  a  winning 
charm  about  her  far  above  mere  beauty  of  feature,  a  won- 
drous charm  of  expression  and  sympathy  which  took  all 
hearts  and  disarmed  criticism.  She  had,  moreover,  many 
of  the  requisites  for  real  beauty,  —  a  fine,  stately  presence,  a 
movement  always  graceful  and  impressive,  a  warm,  healthy 
complexion,  beautiful,  wavy,  chestnut  hair,  and  the  finest 
eyes  in  the  world.     Go  where  she  might,  she  was  always 


1(32  —  "  ^  CHARLOTTE   CUSHMAN  : 

tlie  person  whose  individuality  dominated  that  of  all 
others.  The  harmonious  combination  in  her  personality 
of  great  intellectual  force  with  extreme  social  genial- 
ity, sweetness,  and  sympathy,  produced  an  attraction 
which  was  irresistible  (none  but  the  coldest  and  most 
unsympathetic  natures  resisted  its  force),  and  it  was 
as  powerful  with  the  poor  and  lowly  as  with  the  high 
born  and  bred. 

Another  marked  impression  Miss  Cushman  made  was 
the  entire  absence  of  any  reminder  of  the  professional  in 
private  life ;  neither  in  dress  nor  manner  could  this  be 
detected  in  her.  She  was  always  studiously  neat  in  her 
dress,  beautifully  natural  and  true  in  her  manner.  Only 
when  she  spoke  one  was  refreshed  by  hearing  the  same 
ease  and  perfectness  of  delivery  for  which  she  was  so 
noted  upon  the  stage.  Nature  seemed  to  have  formed  her 
throat,  lungs,  and  mouth  for  the  most  perfect  elocution, 
and  given  the  voice  a  volume  and  a  power  of  inflection 
which  was  able  to  fill  any  space.  This  great  power  was 
tested  in  her  later  years  by  one  going  about  to  different 
extreme  points  of  the  Academy  of  Music  in  Philadelphia, 

—  a  building  capable  of  holding  comfortably  three  thou- 
sand people,  and,  filled  to  its  utmost  capacity,  five  thou- 
sand, as  it  often  was  at  her  readings;  everywhere  the 
grand  voice  penetrated  without  effort,  and  could  be  heard 
as  well  in  its  lowest  as  in  its  highest  intonation. 

The  singular  absence  from  Miss  Cushman's  personality 
of  any  suggestion  of  the  stage  —  if  we  may  so  express  it 

—  was  most  remarkable  in  one  who  had  lived  upon  it  so 
long  and  served  such  an  apprenticeship  to  it.  It  was  a 
part  of  her  royal  birthright,  that  she  was  equal  to  any 
position,  and  would  have  adorned  any  station ;  as  it  was, 
she  created  for  herself  a  station  which  surpassed  the  ad- 
ventitious advantages  of  greater  rank  and  wealth.     With 


HER  LIFE,  LETTERS,  AND  MEMORIES.  103 

this  inherent  superiority  was  combined  a  singular,  almost 
childlike  simplicity,  a  capacity  for  enjoying  life  in  all  its 
phases,  of  accepting  with  equal  philosophy  the  roughness 
or  the  smoothness  of  the  way.  And  yet  philosophy  is 
hardly  the  word  for  it,  if  philosophy  can  be  confounded 
with  indifference.  Indifference  she  never  knew ;  it  had 
no  part  in  her  full,  intense,  earnest  nature ;  whatever  of 
wrong  she  could  help,  whatever  she  could  make  better  or 
happier  for  others  or  herself,  to  that  she  bent  the  full 
force  of  her  capacious  soul,  and  the  rough  way  became 
smooth,  the  difficult  paths  easy,  the  barren  effort  fruitful, 
as  if  by  magic.  Nothing  was  too  great  or  too  small  for 
her  to  undertake  to  serve  a  friend.  She  would  bestow  as 
much  personal  care  and  effort  in  the  endeavor  to  right 
the  wrongs  of  a  poor  seamstress  who  had  fallen  among  the 
Philistines  in  Eome,  as  she  ever  gave  to  the  needs  of  the 
highest  among  her  acquaintances.  This  was  only  one  in- 
stance of  many  of  the  same  kind,  which  were  so  much 
a  matter  of  course  with  her  that  the  knowledge  of  them 
rarely  passed  beyond  herself  and  her  faithful  "  Sallie," 
who  was,  as  she  often  said,  "  her  right  hand  " ;  and  only 
in  this  way  did  her  right  hand  know  what  her  left  hand 
did.  But  the  incense  of  these  good  deeds  filled  her  life 
with  an  aroma  of  faithful  remembrance  and  devotion, 
taking  shape,  whenever  opportunity  served,  in  some  little 
gift,  the  best  in  the  power  of  the  donor,  mostly  flowers, 
in  the  instance  of  the  poor  seamstress  above  mentioned, 
a  specialty  of  pressed  flowers  was  the  form  in  which  the 
greatful  heart  uttered  itself  Many  instances  of  this  kind 
might  be  recorded  here.  One  in  especial  occurs  to  me,  as 
very  characteristic.  This  was  in  Cincinnati,  on  one  of 
her  professional  tours,  during  these  later  years,  under- 
taken by  the  advice  of  physicians,  and  much  interrupted 
by  attacks  of  sudden  and  serious  illness.     On  this  occa- 


104  CHARLOTTE  CUSHMAN : 

sion  she  was  ill  in  bed,  heavy  with  a  sort  of  stupor  which 
was  a  symptom  of  her  malady.  A  knock  came  at  the 
door  of  the  room ;  going  to  it,  the  attendant  found  there 
a  respectable-looking  woman,  who  seemed  in  great  dis- 
tress. She  told  a  sad  story :  she  had  been  robbed  of  her 
purse ;  she  was  on  her  way  home,  after  nursing  a  sick 
daughter  in  another  city.  She  was  a  stranger  without 
friends  in  Cincinnati ;  she  had  seen  Miss  Cushman's  name 
in  the  papers,  had  heard  of  her  noble  and  generous  heart, 
etc.  Not  wishing  to  disturb  the  patient,  a  moment's  hesi- 
tation took  place  ;  but  a  voice  from  the  bed  asked,  "  What 
is  it  ? "  The  story  was  told.  "  Her  voice  is  honest,"  she 
said;  "give  her  what  she  needs." 

The  following  letter  is  inserted  as  another  instance 
showing  how  Miss  Cushman  was  constantly  dealing  with 
evil  wherever  she  found  it,  and  never  "  in  fear  or  shame 
failing  to  follow  the  dictates  of  her  heart."  The  writer 
of  this  was  a  young  and  interesting  woman  moving  in 
the  upper  ranks  of  life.     It  speaks  for  itself. 

**  My  dear  Miss  Cushman  :  Thank  you  for  your  kindness 
in  speaking  openly  to  me  on  a  subject  from  which  all  others 
have  shrunk.  I  will  do  my  best  to  merit  your — well,  what 
shall  I  say  1  not  affection,  for  I  have  no  claim  on  it  more  than 
the  pen  with  which  I  write,  and  your  respect  must,  if  you 
ever  had  any,  have  vanished  some  time  ago.  However,  I 
will  try  to  win  some  good  opinion  from  you.  Now  for  a 
r^sum^  of  your  letter :  1st,  I  know  a  good  deal  more  than 
you  think  of  your  character,  and  that  simply  from  watching 
you  very  often  when  you  neither  saw  nor  heard  me.  You  sat 
before  me  for  three  Sundays  in  church,  and  during  the  ser- 
mons (stupid  enough)  I  had  at  least  two  hours  to  compare  you 
with  a  mass  of  half-educated  people,  living  on  from  season  to 
season  with  no  higher  idea  than  *  pour  passer  le  temps.*  Put 
any  one  of  these  women  in  your  place  and  they  would  have 


HER  LIFE,  LETTERS,   AND   MEMORIES.  105 

been  like  so  many  half-fledged  birds,  trying  to  fly ;  while  you, 
gifted  by  God  with  unusual  powers,  rose  on  the  wing.  Per- 
haps, to  use  Browning's  word,  you 

"  Starved,  feasted,  despaired," 

but  you  succeeded. 

"  2d.  I  know  I  have  a  good,  well-grounded  character,  and 
that  I  am  not  a  fool.  I  know  also  that  I  have  '  no  consist- 
ency of  purpose,'  and  no  *  energy.'  But  I  know  that  both 
were  sacrificed  in  the  beginning  to  at  least  a  wish  to  do  what 
was  right. 

"  3d.  *  To  be  degraded  in  one's  own  mind  is  the  worst  of 
all.'  In  that  you  say  only  too  truly ;  but  I  am  not  going  to 
be  degraded  any  longer,  in  my  own  mind  or  otherwise.  I  am 
rather  of  the  opinion  of  the  author  of  '  Guy  Livingstone,'  that 
*  a  fault  is  worse  than  a  failure.'  I  can  forgive  the  first,  but 
despise  the  second ;  and  when  once  I  learn  to  despise  myself 
I  am  more  than  half-way  cured.  If  I  can  serve  you  now  or 
ever,  command  me,  and  hold  me  always  gratefully  yours.'* 

But  to  return  to  Eome.  During  this  winter  Miss  Cush- 
man  sang  often  in  society ;  her  once  powerful  organ,  in 
losing  its  compass  and  variety,  had  lost  nothing  of  its 
power  of  expression.  It  was  still  a  supreme  gift,  as  it 
continued  to  the  end  of  her  life.  It  was  only  one  of  her 
means  of  giving  forth  the  richness  and  depth  of  her  na- 
ture, and  it  comprehended  the  same  universality.  It 
was  very  effective  in  the  grander  styles  of  composition, 
especially  so  where  she  could  bring  to  bear  her  early  train- 
ing in  church  music.  Friends  will  call  to  mind  the  touch- 
ing and  solemn  theme  by  Jones  Very,  beginning,  "  Wilt 
Thou  not  visit  me  ?  "  which  we  called  "  The  Chant,"  and 
which  was  either  an  adaptation  or  a  suggestion  from  one 
of  the  Gregorian  chants.  It  was  singularly  adapted  to 
her  style  of  singing,  or,  as  she  herself  called  it,  "  declaim- 


106  CHARLOTTE  CUSHMAN  : 

"  Mary,  call  the  Cattle  Home/'  by  Charles  Kingsley,  was 
another  remarkable  performance,  given  with  a  depth  of 
pathos,  fervor,  and  intensity  which  made  the  blood  thrilL 
Her  repertoire  of  ballads  and  songs  adapted  to  her  voice 
was  quite  extensive.  Afterwards,  when  she  had  established 
her  home  in  Eome  and  her  salon  became  one  of  the  chief 
attractions  of  the  winter,  many  will  recall  those  Saturday 
evenings  when,  after  entertaining  her  guests  with  all  the 
best  musical  talent  that  Eome  could  furnish,  the  evening 
was  never  considered  complete  without  her  own  contri- 
butions, and  a  chosen  few  would  always  remain  to  insist 
upon  the  "  Irish  song "  as  the  necessary  finale  to  the 
evening. 

These  "  Irish  songs  "  were  always  kept  for  "  the  fit  au- 
dience, though  few,"  who  could  never  be  content  to  go 
away  without  one.  Like  her  Irish  stories,  they  were 
unique.  With  the  first  note  of  the  accompaniment  the 
spirit  and  rollicking  drollery  of  all  the  Emerald-Islanders 
entered  into  her ;  not  a  word  lost,  not  a  point  or  witty 
turn  slurred  over  or  failing  to  express  its  entire  meaning, 
and  all  enhanced  by  her  own  thorough  enjoyment  of  the 
fun.  Of  these  songs  the  favorite,  and  undoubtedly  the 
wittiest  and  best,  was  one  called  "  Father  Molloy,"  by 
Samuel  Lover.  It  turns  upon  the  illness  of  a  certain 
Paddy  McCabe,  and  the  efforts  made  by  the  priest  to 
make  him  appreciate  the  value  of  "  repintance  "  and  for- 
giveness of  his  enemies. 

"  *  For  widout  your  forgiveness  and  likewise  repintance, 
You'll  ne'er  go  to  heaven,  and  that  is  my  sintence.'  " 

Paddy  is  not  so  low  but  he  can  argue  the  matter ;  he 
exhausts  every  form  of  special  pleading,  of  wit,  of  fun, 
of  drollery,  constantly  imploring  for  the  blessing,  which  is 
sternly  refused  except  upon  the  conditions  aforesaid. 

At  last  he  comes  to  the  conclusion  that  he  must  forgive. 


HER  LIFE,  LETTERS,  AND  MEMORIES.  107 

**  *  I  forgive  —  everybody,'  says  Pat,  wid  a  gi'oan, 
*  Except  —  that  big  vagabone,  Micky  Malone  ; 
And  liiin  I  '11  murder  if  ever  I  can '  —  " 

Here  the  priest  breaks  in,  peremptorily,  — 

*•  '  Widout  your  forgiveness  and  likewise  repintance. 
You'll  ne'er  go  to  heaven,  and  that  is  my  sintence.'  " 

Upon  which  Paddy  wonders  very  much  how  the  priest 
can  think  of  mentioning  heaven  anyway  in  the  same 
breath  with  that  "blackguard,  Malone."  Finally  he 
winds  up  with  the  following  irresistibly  Irish  conclu- 
sion :  — 

"  'Well,  since  I  'm  hard  pressed  and  I  must  forgive, 
I  forgive  —  if  I  die  ;  but  as  sure  as  I  live, 
That  ugly  blackguard  I  will  surely  desthroy  ; 
And  now  for  your  blessin',  swate  Father  Molloy.' " 

This  song,  as  I  have  said,  was  a  great  favorite,  and  de- 
servedly so,  as  those  who  recall  it  will  readily  admit ;  but 
there  were  sometimes  guests  present  who  might  not  relish 
its  freedom,  and  what  might  seem  something  in  it  of  a 
burlesque  upon  what  were  to  them  sacred  things.  Any 
chance  of  such  ofi'ence  Miss  Cushman  always  carefully 
avoided.  On  one  occasion  a  young  English  priest  was 
present,  and  she  refused  to  sing  the  song  until  after  his 
departure.  In  due  time  he  said  "  good  night,"  and  soon 
after  the  rich  notes  of  "Father  Molloy"  rose  upon  the 
air.  He,  however,  had  not  gone  ;  something  detained  him 
in  the  antechamber;  he  stopped  to  listen;  delighted  and 
amused,  he,  stayed  the  song  out,  and  the  next  day  he  called 
to  express  his  pleasure,  and  to  hope  that  he  might  speedily 
have  a  better  opportunity  of  hearing  it  again. 

This  winding  up  of  the  Saturday  evenings  came  to  be 
at  last  a  recognized  necessity,  and  the  fame  of  them  spread 
abroad  among  our  country  men  and  women  in  Rome,  until 
at  last  the  house  could  hardly  contain  the  numbers  who 
thronged  there.    All  came,  even  those  who  had  no  special 


108  CHARLOTTE   CUSHMAN: 

title  to  admittance  further  than  that  they  claimed  on  the 
ground  of  being  Americans.  It  was  sometimes  curious 
to  see  the  family  groups  who  would  file  in,  one  after  the 
other,  the  pater  or  mater  familias,  making  a  little  speech  of 
explanation,  and  then  formally  presenting  the  rest,  always 
received  kindly  by  the  pleasant  hostess,  who  had  but  one 
face  for  all  her  guests.  It  was  delightful  to  see  her  in  the 
midst  of  them,  with  a  kind  word,  a  ready  repartee,  a  hearty 
laugh  for  one  and  the  other.  It  was  a  thing  to  be  noted, 
that  Miss  Cushman  always  looked  taller  than  any  one  else, 
even  when  she  was  not  really  so,  the  carriage  of  her  per- 
son and  her  marked  personality  seeming  to  give  her  this 
distinction. 

Even  up  to  the  last  years  of  her  life  she  continued  to 
give  the  same  pleasure  with  her  songs,  forgetting  herself 
and  her  pain  in  the  outgiving  of  herself,  which  was  her 
mission  and  her  life.  Some  of  her  latest  strength  was 
given  with  wonderful  intensity  and  pathos  to  Gounod's 
fine  sacred  compositions,  —  "There  is  a  Green  Hill  far 
Away,"  and  "Nazareth." 

The  winter  of  1856-57  passed  swiftly, and  only  closed 
too  soon.  Miss  Cushman  made  with  her  party  the  usual 
Lenten  excursion  to  Naples  and  its  neighborhood,  returning 
for  Holy  Week,  and  immediately  after  to  England.  But  be- 
fore leaving  arrangements  were  decided  upon  for  the  Eoman 
home,  which  was  not,  however,  to  be  an  accomplished  fact 
until  the  winter  of  1859,  she  having  made  engagements 
for  an  intermediate  season  in  America.  On  September  5 
of  this  year  she  sailed  to  meet  these  engagements. 

Here  are  a  few  scraps  of  notes  of  this  period,  trifling  in 
themselves,  but  interesting  as  referring  to  her,  and  show- 
ing the  universal  feeling  of  her  goodness,  how  "  the  hearts 
leaped  kindly  back  to  kindness."  One  is  from  a  young 
friend,  and  begins,  "  My  Minnie."  They  all  felt  the  moth- 
erly, protective  atmosphere  she  bore  about  her. 


HER  LIFE,  LETTERS,  AND  MEMORIES.  109 

"  My  Minnie  :  So  you  start  to-morrow  over  the  great  deep ; 
and  if  you  knew  how  sad  I  felt  in  seeing  the  last  of  you,  you 
would  not  have  wondered  at  my  indulging  in  a  little  private 

roar  on  my  own  account,  as  I  did  in  Mrs.  S 's  hall.     You 

know  me  well  enough  to  understand  and  believe  me  when  I 
say  that  the  home  love,  the  power  of  forming  and  clinging 
to  domestic  ties,  is  the  deepest  capacity  in  my  nature ;  and  I 
have  not  felt  or  taken  lightly  the  constant  tenderness  you  have 
shown  me  the  last  two  years,  and  the  way  in  which  you  have 
made  me  free  of  your  hearthstone.  It  has  been  a  great  dis- 
appointment to  me  not  to  see  you  off,  and  I  felt  thoroughly 
the  kindness  which  made  you  want  me  to  come  to  Liverpool, 
but  it  was  better  not.  My  own  Minnie,  don't  go  and  stay  away 
twenty  months.  My  love  to  Sallie ;  say  farewell  to  the  dear 
little  woman  for  me,  and  tell  her  not  to  get  married  in  America. 

"  Your  loving  child, 

"  B." 

Here  is  a  bright  little  note  from  Miss  Cushman  her- 
self to  another  B.,  also  a  young  friend  :  — 

"Bless  you,  dearest  Belle,  for  your  kind  little  note.  I 
wondered  whether  you  would  write  to  me,  and  now  wish  you 
would  call  me  anything  but  Miss  Cushman.  I  laughed  at  N. 
for  calling  mine  '  a  godmother's  box  of  goodies ' ;  but  you 
shall  call  me  '  godmother '  if  you  can  find  nothing  better 
than  *  Miss  Cushman ' ;  and  yet  there  is  something  formidable 
in  mother,  therefore  it  shall  be  '  Madre  Mia,'  and  I  will  do  what 
I  can  in  a  small  way  to  prove  my  right  to  the  title.  I  wish  I 
could  anticipate  all  your  wants  as  mothers  can  and  do,  but 
I  will  do  my  best.  That  naughty  *  brown  eyes'  did  not  send 
me  my  snowdrops,  only  told  me  you  were  going  to  send  them. 
You  tell  me  she  is  going  to  send  them ;  so  between  you  I  don't 
get  my  deserts.  I  have  been  doing  such  a  lot  of  things,  as 
busy  as  the  '  old  gentleman  in  a  gale  of  wind ' ;  and  they  say 
no  B  is  ever  so  busy  as  he  under  these  circumstances.  I 
am  as  tired  as  I  should  be  if  I  had —  nothing  to  do.     But 


110  CHARLOTTE  CUSHMAN  : 

to-morrow  I  am  going  to  Croyden  for  a  couple  of  days,  and 

perhaps  that  may  recruit  me  a  bit,  for  Mrs.  D says  I  am 

to  write  no  letters  while  I  am  with  her ;  so  that  I  am  to  have 
perfect  rest,  with  the  exception  of  gossip ;  and  it  is  so  foolish 
of  people  to  imagine  such  can  be  rest.  Everything  I  do  in 
this  world  I  do  hard^  even  to  loving  my  friends.  On  Friday 
I  return  to  town  to  go  and  hear  Costa's  *  Oratorio  of  Eli,'  with 
my  handsome  friend  Chorley.  Last  night  we  went  to  Mrs. 
L's,  where  we  met  Mrs.  Martin,  late  Miss  Fauci  t,  and  a  host 

of  smaller  fry.    Tell  F ,  with  ray  love,  I  have  made  up  the 

house-bills  each  week  in  tm  minutes^  but  have  no  money  left 
to  pay  them  with ;  my  fortune  is  exhausted,  all  my  trinkets 
up  the  spout,  and  I  expect  every  day  to  be  arrested  for  debt. 
I  have  spent  all  the  money  she  left  me,  and  don't  know 
where  to  get  any  more.  Wilmot  finds  me  *  the  easiest,  but 
the  most  forgetfullest  of  missusses.'  I  go  out  and  forget  to 
order  the  dinner,  and  am  followed  to  the  carriage  door  for 
*  Borders,  please,  mem.'  My  brain  wool-gathers  frightfully, 
which  gives  me  hope  I  may  not  be  bald,  even  though  I  should 
lose  my  hair.     God  bless  you,  my  child. 

"  I  am  ever  your  faithfully  afifectionate 

"  Madre.'* 


*mimmm 


CHAPTER   VI. 

"  I  count  myself  in  nothing  else  so  happy 
As  in  a  soul  remembering  my  good  friends." 
Richard  II. 
**  Heaven  doth  with  us  as  we  with  torches  do  ; 
Not  light  them  for  themselves  :  for  if  our  virtues 
Did  not  go  forth  of  us,  't  were  all  alike 
As  if  we  had  them  not.    Spirits  are  not  finely  touched. 
But  to  fine  issues  :  nor  nature  never  lends 
The  smallest  scruple  of  her  excellence. 
But,  like  a  thrifty  goddess,  she  determines 
Herself  the  glory  of  a  creditor, 

Both  thanks  and  use." 

Measure  for  Measure 


HE  winter  and  part  of  the  summer  of  this  year 
were  passed  in  the  States,  acting  all  about  the 
country  with  her  usual  success.  Letters  and 
notices  of  this  period  are  wanting ;  the  record  of  names, 
places,  and  dates  are  in  the  diary,  but  without  comment. 
After  her  return  to  England,  July  7,  she  made  some 
delightful  excursions,  after  devoting  six  weeks  to  Mal- 
vern ;  going  to  Gloucester,  Eoss,  and  Monmouth,  by  way 
of  the  Ptiver  Wye;  visiting  Eaglan  Castle,  and  seeing 
Tintern  Abbey  by  moonlight.  September  was  passed 
between  London  and  Brighton.  On  October  5  she  left 
for  Eome,  going  by  way  of  Paris,  Strasburg,  and  Basle, 
through  Switzerland  to  the  Italian  lakes,  and  by  Genoa, 
Spezzia,  and  Florence  to  Eome. 

The  season  was  chiefly  occupied  in  fitting  up  her  apart- 


112  CHARLOTTE  CUSHMAN  : 

ment  at  No.  38  Via  Gregoriana,  where  she  gave  her  first 
reception  on  January  19,  1859.  This  house  —  or  rather 
two  houses,  Nos.  38  and  40  —  is  considered,  and  justly,  one 
of  the  choice  situations  of  Eome.  The  street  runs  directly 
up  to  the  famous  promenade  of  the  Pincian,  and  the  house 
is  but  a  pleasant  ten  minutes'  walk  from  that  charming 
locality.  Its  outlook  is,  or  was  at  that  time,  unsurpassed 
in  extent  and  interest.  Since  then  many  changes  have 
taken  place,  which  may  have  obstructed  in  some  measure 
this  view ;  but  then  from  most  of  the  front  windows  the 
eye  ranged  over  a  wide  prospect,  taking  in  most  of  the 
picturesque  outlines  of  the  city,  St.  Peter's  looming  large 
and  grand  in  front,  with  a  limitless  expanse  of  open  Cam- 
pagna,  and  the  marvellous  sky  of  Kome  for  background. 

Directly  in  front  lay  the  pleasant  parterres  and  green- 
ery of  the  Mignanelli  Gardens.  The  palace  itself  stood 
lower  down  on  the  level  of  the  Piazza  d'Espagna.  Above 
all  these  buildings  towered  the  sculptured  Madonna  of  the 
column  of  the  Immaculate  Conception ;  and  to  the  left  a 
far  more  beautiful  object,  the  corrugated  roof  and  quaint 
tower  of  the  ancient  church  of  St.  Andrea  delle  Prate, 
where,  from  immemorial  time,  hosts  of  rooks  had  clustered 
and  cawed  and  fed,  whose  sage  and  wise  proceedings  were 
a  source  of  great  interest  to  some  members  of  the  house- 
hold. Every  evening,  exactly  as  the  clock  of  the  church 
struck  six,  after  great  note  of  preparation  and  much  noise 
and  discussion,  the  main  body  of  the  birds  took  flight  for 
their  night-quarters  on  the  stone-pines  of  the  Villa  Bor- 
ghese.  They  had  leaders  and  conductors  of  this  move- 
ment, whose  business  it  plainly  was  to  preserve  order  and 
muster  in  aU  the  stragglers.  After  the  main  flock  were 
fairly  started  these  returned,  flew  round  the  tower,  and 
summoned,  with  loud  and  peremptory  caws,  any  dilatory 
ones  who  might  have  lingered.     This  they  repeated  sev- 


HER  LIFE,  LETTERS,  AND  MEMORIES.  113 

eral  times,  until  all  had  been  gathered  in.  Then  another 
grand  powwow  took  place  among  the  trees,  their  dusky- 
plumage  turned  all  to  palpable  gold  or  copper  by  the 
level  rays  of  the  setting  sun.  It  was  impossible  not  to 
speculate  upon  these  regular  proceedings,  and  the  ques- 
tion naturally  arose,  whether  the  spirits  of  the  dead  gen- 
erations of  monks  who  had  inhabited  the  church  below 
might  not  now  be  still  revisiting  "  the  glimpses  of  the 
moon  "  in  this  appropriate  guise,  unwilling  quite  to  leave 
the  scenes  of  their  earthly  pilgrimage,  and  still  inter- 
ested and  occupied  with  the  churchly  routine  through 
which  they  had  lived  and  died.  In  the  enumeration  of 
objects  seen  from  this  fine  point  of  view,  I  must  not 
forget  glimpses  here  and  there  of  the  windings  of  the 
classic  river,  gleaming  out  from  among  the  thickly  clus- 
tered houses  and  churches.  The  famous  Castle  of  St. 
Angelo,  the  heights  of  San  Pietro  in  Montorio,  the  lofty 
sculptured  gateway  of  the  Villa  Pamfili  Doria,  and  be- 
hind, against  the  horizon,  its  noble  grove  of  pines.  The 
vast  barn-Hke  structure  of  St.  Paul's  without  the  walls, 
and  the  Protestant  Cemetery,  were  visible  to  the  right  of 
the  picture,  and  nearer  by,  the  large  and  rather  angular 
structure  of  the  Quirinal  Palace,  with  its  gardens  and 
groups  of  fine  old  trees,  the  gray  shell  of  the  Colosseum, 
the  Capitol  with  its  lofty  and  beautiful  tower,  and  the 
low  round  dome  of  the  Pantheon.  In  the  midst  a  mass 
of  palaces,  churches,  and  private  dwellings,  many  of  the 
highest  historical  interest,  all  with  a  certain  noble  pictu- 
resqueness,  due  partly  to  their  rich  and  sombre  coloring, 
and  partly  to  the  deep  blue  shadow  and  soft  golden  light 
in  which  they  lie. 

They  are  interspersed  everywhere  with  gardens,  with 
noble  trees  shooting  high  into  the  blue  air,  with  a  wealth 
and  luxuriance  of  trailing  foliage  breaking  the  harsh 
angles  and  softening  down 


114  CHARLOTTE  CUSHMAN : 

"  The  hoar  austerity 
Of  rugged  desolation,  and  filling  up, 
As  't  were,  anew  the  gaps  of  centuries, 
Leaving  that  beautiful  which  still  was  so, 
And  making  that  which  was  not." 

Within  Miss  C  ashman's  house  the  charm  was  different, 
but  in  its  way  as  great.  A  glow  of  warmth  and  comfort, 
combined  with  a  certain  elegance,  pervaded  the  pleasant 
rooms,  and  who  of  the  many  who  enjoyed  the  hospitality 
of  that  house  can  forget  the  genial,  cordial  hostess,  her 
kind  face,  her  pleasant  voice,  her  appreciation  of  all  that 
was  best  in  her  guest,  sending  him  away  with  an  agree- 
able consciousness  of  having  been  more  charming  than 
he  had  ever  thought  himself  capable  of  being  before. 

Miss  Cushman's  apartment  at  first  consisted  only  of  the 
first  floor  of  No.  38,  which  she  herself  fitted  up  and  fur- 
nished. Afterwards,  when  more  room  was  required,  the 
second  and  third  floors  were  taken  in  addition.  Still 
later,  when  it  became  necessary  to  have  larger  space 
for  entertaining,  the  next  door  No.  40,  was  added  to 
the  establishment,  doors  were  opened  between  the  two 
houses,  and  it  became  a  very  delightful,  convenient  place 
of  residence.  The  reception-rooms  were  not  large,  nor 
were  there  many  of  them  ;  but  there  was  an  air  of  lionie- 
iness,  if  one  may  coin  a  word,  rarely  seen  in  the  apartments 
of  Kome,  which  are  mostly  either  small,  bare,  and  incon- 
venient, or  else  coldly  spacious  and  splendid,  with  no  end 
of  perfectly  useless,  uninhabitable  rooms. 

This  home  was  a  genuine  one,  and  so  grew  every  year 
more  and  more  in  harmony  with  the  true  hospitable 
nature  of  its  mistress.  Its  walls  gradually  became  cov- 
ered with  choice  pictures  and  such  sculpture  as  there  was 
space  for;  but  its  chief  beauty  consisted  in  its  antique 
carved  furniture,  its  abundance  of  books,  and  the  patent 


HER  LIFE,  LETTERS,  AND  MEMORIES.  115 

fact  that  every  part  and  parcel  of  it  was  for  daily  use,  and 
nothing  for  mere  show ;  so  that  every  one  who  came  into 
it  felt  at  once  its  peculiar  charm,  and  exclaimed,  "  0,  this 
is  like  home  ! "  All  those  who  have  experienced  the  sense 
of  strangeness  and  loneliness  which  besets  one  in  a  foreign 
land  will  readily  recognize  this  element,  and  many  will 
remember  it  with  heartfelt  gratitude. 

The  back  walls  of  these  houses  were  painted  in  fresco 
on  the  outside,  said  to  be  by  a  painter  of  some  note,  and 
the  windows  looked  out  into  a  garden,  rude,  but  quaint 
and  picturesque,  as  all  Italian  gardening  is.  A  mingling 
of  fragments  of  antique  marbles,  some  set  into  the  rough 
plaster  walls  without  much  regard  to  symmetry  of  ar- 
rangement, but  very  suggestive,  and  often  masterly ;  bits 
of  broken  columns,  standing  here  and  there  in  a  mass  of 
luxuriant  vegetation,  the  rich  green  acanthus-leaves  vying 
with  their  sculptured  representatives  on  the  shattered 
capitals ;  the  indispensable  well  in  one  corner,  with  its 
innumerable  conductors  bringing  down  buckets  from  all 
quarters  and  every  stage  on  long  lines  of  iron  wire  or  rod, 
filling  the  mind  with  astonishment  how  it  was  possible 
for  each  bucket  to  keep  its  own  line  of  travel  and  avoid 
coming  in  contact  with  its  neighbors.  One  peculiarity 
about  this  well  was,  that  if  you  looked  down  it,  you  be- 
held far  below  in  the  bowels  of  the  earth  the  surface  of 
the  water,  and,  to  your  astonishment,  women  coming  and 
going,  drawing  the  water  from  its  source,  and  you  recog- 
nized that  it  was  a  large  reservoir,  to  which  the  well- 
mouth  above  was  only  an  opening  or  conductor.  Further 
investigation  disclosed  the  fact  that  underneath  all  this 
neighborhood  existed  enormous  excavations,  eerie  under- 
ground passages,  giving  access  to  this  well,  and  Heaven 
only  knew  to  what  else  beside,  since  we  were  none  of  us 
endowed  with  the  proper  groping  antiquarian  spirit  to 
find  out. 


116  CHARLOTTE  CUSHMAN  : 

The  houses  which  bounded  the  back  view  on  the  Via 
Sistina  were  occupied  as  studios  and  apartments,  and 
presented  to  an  inquiring  inind  a  sufficiently  entertaining 
prospect,  since  it  is  in  the  nature  of  Italians  to  live  very 
much  en  evidence,  and  family  affairs  and  interesting  domes- 
tic events  were  freely  discussed  from  window  to  window 
in  the  peculiar  high-pitched  not  at  all  musical  voices  of 
the  natives.  It  is  a  curious  .fact  that  the  throats  which 
so  often  give  forth  the  most  marvellous  sounds  in  singing 
are  rarely  ever  pleasant  in  speaking.  They  talk  fast,  and 
in  a  very  high  pitch,  and  have  no  idea  whatever  of  the 
"  golden  empire  of  silence."  They  utter  themselves  like 
children,  with  the  same  abandon  and  unconsciousness,  and 
are  full  of  dramatic  force  and  vivacity.  Even  although 
it  is  not  Lingua  Toscana  in  hocca  Romana,  the  exquisite 
beauty  and  sweetness  of  the  language  cannot  be  disguised, 
and  one  is  grateful,  since  they  must  chatter  like  parrots, 
it  can  be  done  in  so  sweet  a  tongue. 

While  upon  the  subject  of  Miss  Cushman's  home  sur- 
roundings in  Eome,  —  the  object  being  to  present  as  clear 
a  picture  as  possible  of  that  time,  —  a  few  words  concern- 
ing the  Italian  servants  may  not  be  inappropriately  in- 
serted here.  There  are  many  who  knew  the  household 
well  who  will  thank  me  for  these  reminiscences ;  and  those 
who  did  not  will  be  glad  of  a  record  which  may  place 
more  vividly  before  them  the  life  of  so  noted  and  esteemed 
a  contemporary. 

Italians  make  excellent  servants  on  the  score  of  human- 
ity ;  that  is  to  say,  however  rascally  they  may  be  in  many 
respects,  they  never  fail  to  take  a  truly  genuine  interest 
in  their  employers,  entering  into  the  affairs  of  the  family 
con  amove,  and,  even  while  carrying  on  what  they  consider 
a  perfectly  justifiable  system  of  plunder,  conducting  them- 
selves in  a  genial  and  sympathetic  way  which  makes  one 
forgive  them  everything. 


HER  LIFE,  LETTERS,  AND   MEMORIES.  117 

Custom  and  evil  surroundings  have  trained  them  in 
habits  of  deception  and  peculation  of  a  certain  kind ;  but 
it  is  always  strictly  within  the  bounds  of  what  they  con- 
sider their  perquisites.  For  example,  in  making  purchases 
for  you,  they  will  take  advantage  of  any  opportunity  to 
make  their  own  little  per  centum,  aided  in  this  by  the 
habits  and  institutions  of  the  country.  The  system  is 
profound  and  manifold,  and  there  is  no  fathoming  the 
depths  of  it ;  for  ease  and  peace'  sake  you  must  wink  at 
it.  If  you  get  a  good  cook  you  must  be  satisfied  to  know 
that  you  pay,  not  only  an  ostensible  price  for  him,  but 
also  a  duty  upon  every  article  he  purchases  for  you. 

I  remember  hearing  of  a  case  in  which  a  gentleman 
undertook  to  grapple  with  and  lay  this  domestic  monster 
in  its  stronghold,  the  kitchen.  He  had  an  interview  with 
his  cook,  and  came  to  a  thorough  understanding  with  him. 
He  agreed  to  pay  him  a  sum  sufficient  to  cover  all  the 
side  issues  in  question,  provided  he  would  deal  "  on  the 
square  "  with  him.  The  man  undertook  to  try  the  experi- 
ment ;  but  at  the  end  of  a  month  came  to  say  he  could 
not  afford  it.  He  was  obliged  not  only  to  prey  upon  his 
master,  but  to  be  preyed  upon  himself ;  and  if  he  did  not 
meet  the  expectations  of  others  in  the  usual  way,  he  could 
not  answer  for  his  life.  This  dishonesty,  however,  never 
takes  the  form  of  positive  stealing.  Money  is  always  safe 
with  them ;  you  may  leave  it  about,  you  may  lose  it,  it 
will  never  be  appropriated.  So  with  anything  in  the  shape 
of  personal  property.  The  house  would  be  left  during  the 
summer  months  to  the  care  of  the  servants,  and  not  the 
smallest  article  was  ever  missed.  The  Italian  cook  —  by 
name  Augusto  —  was  a  clief  par  excellence,  and  quite  a 
gentleman.  He  would  come  in  the  morning,  get  his  or- 
ders, do  his  marketing,  lay  out  and  prepare  his  dinner, 
and  then  depart,  returning  only  in  time  to  cook  it.     His 


118  CHARLOTTE  CUSHMAN : 

kitcBen  was  a  sight  to  behold  for  neatness  and*  order,  and 
he  himself  was  a  picture,  in  his  white  jacket,  apron,  and 
cap.  As  soon  as  the  dinner  was  cooked  and  served,  again 
he  became  quite  an  elegant  gentleman  and  went  forth, 
probably,  to  flaner  with  the  best  on  the  Pincian,  leaving 
all  the  minor  details  to  the  care  of  his  myrmidon,  who 
presided  over  the  pots  and  pans.  He  may  be  said  to  have 
been  a  master  of  the  aesthetics  of  cooking,  for  he  had  elimi- 
nated from  it  all  its  grossness  and  reduced  it  to  a  pure 
science,  ruling  serenely  in  the  midst,  and,  even  ladle  in 
hand,  abating  no  jot  of  dignity,  but  rather  making  that 
implement  the  symbol  and  token  of  the  true  sovereignty 
which  the  one  achieves  who  can  do  anything  thoroughly 
well. 

The  next  important  personage  on  the  Italian  staff  was 
the  waiter  —  or  major  domo  —  Antonio.  A  tall,  well- 
made,  remarkably  good-looking,  perfectly  ignorant  person 
in  everything  but  his  business.  He  could  not  read  or  write, 
yet  his  appearance  and  manners  were  so  unexceptionable 
that  more  than  one  among  our  younger  lady  visitors  de- 
clared that  Antonio  realized  far  more  their  ideal  of  what 
a  Roman  prince  was  like  than  any  of  the  genuine  article 
they  had  seen.  This  is  curiously  true  about  the  Eomans ; 
the  middle  and  more  especially  the  lower  classes  are  far 
more  handsome  —  even  noble  in  type  —  than  the  higher 
ranks.  Why  this  should  be  so  is  hard  to  say,  unless  it  is 
that  the  upper  classes  have  lost  the  old  classical  type  by 
intermarriage  with  other  nationalities,  whereas  the  Eoman 
peasantry,  and  notably  the  inhabitants  of  the  Trastevere,  or 
other  side  of  Tiber,  have  preserved  their  ancient  linea- 
ments remarkably,  and  are  a  very  noble-looking  race. 
They  are  unquestionably,  though  it  may  be  too  much  on 
the  material  plane,  a  wonderfully  fine,  strikingly  pictu- 
resque, and  artistic-looking  people.     Their  simple  dignity 


HER  LIFE,  LETTERS,  AND  MEMORIES.  119 

of  bearing,  which  springs  from  utter  unconsciousness  of 
themselves,  gives  a  certain  nobility  of  aspect  to  the  very 
poorest ;  no  amount  of  poverty,  even  squalor,  can  conquer 
this  innate  charm.  The  old  people  are  like  Rembrandts 
and  Teniers ;  time  having  done  for  them  in  the  flesh  what 
the  skill  of  the  artist  accomplishes  on  canvas,  —  toning 
down.  Antonio  was  not,  however,  one  of  the  picturesque 
ones ;  he  was  too  respectable,  by  association  with  his  su- 
periors he  had  ingrafted  on  his  good  looks  an  unmistak- 
able gentility.  "The  Principe,"  he  was  called  by  our 
habitudes.  With  all  his  imposing  appearance,  however, 
he  was  the  merest  child ;  his  simplicity,  real  or  pretended, 
was  simply  astounding ;  and  he  possessed  in  large  meas- 
ure the  attractive  Italian  honliomie  and  geniality.  Ital- 
ian servants  are  not  to  be  kept  at  a  distance ;  they  do  not 
understand  it,  and  it  makes  them  unhappy ;  they  take  a 
lively  interest  in  the  affairs  of  their  family,  —  not  only 
within  but  without  the  house,  —  and  do  not  hesitate  to 
offer  opinions  and  suggest  advice  from  which  the  evident 
kindly  intention  removes  all  suspicion  of  impertinence. 
The  discussions  which  took  place  between  Antonio  and 
his  mistress  concerning  household  matters  were  remark- 
ably entertaining  and  characteristic.  Between  her  broken 
Italian  and  his  very  curious  dialect  the  wonder  grew,  how 
any  understanding  was  ever  arrived  it.  But  confusion  of 
tongues  never  baffled  either  the  one  or  the  other ;  they 
had  a  mutual  language  of  signs,  when  words  failed,  and 
being  both  "  to  the  manner  born,"  succeeded  perfectly  in 
understanding  each  other.  I  should  rather  say,  in  com- 
ing to  an  understanding ;  for  Miss  Cushman,  after  a  long, 
patient,  and  exhausting  effort,  in  which  neither  party 
ever  admitted  defeat  to  each  other,  would  say,  after 
Antonio's  triumphant  departure,  "  My  dear,  I  have  not 
understood  one  single  word  that  man  has  been  saying,  — 
not  one  single  word  !  " 


120  CHARLOTTE  CUSHMAN  : 

Antonio  was  "  a  very  much  married  man/*  having  a  wife 
three  times  his  avoirdupois  and  ten  times  his  weight  of 
personality,  a  soij  who  was  the  care  and  problem  of  his 
life,  and  a  regular  gradation  of  "  olive  branches,"  the  par- 
ent stem  throwing  forth  new  shoots  regularly  every  year. 

Time  and  space  will  not  permit  more  than  passing 
mention  of  the  various  other  domestic  personnaggi  of  the 
household.  Personages  they  all  were,  from  Luisa  the 
portress,  who  lived  in  her  own  peculiar  den  on  the  Piano 
Terreno,  to  Giovanni  the  coachman,  who  looked  down 
upon  her  like  a  king,  from  his  sublime  eminence  on  the 
box.  Luisa  combined  with  her  duties  as  doorkeeper  a 
little  dressmaking,  a  vast  flood  of  gossip,  and  not  a  little 
duplicity  and  cunning,  favoring  visitors  either  with  beam- 
ing smiles  or  torrid  eruptions,  as  occasion  served  or  mat- 
ters did  not  go  quite  to  her  mind.  The  noise  that  Italians 
can  make  upon  very  slight  provocation  is  something  in- 
credible. They  get  up  with  the  suddenness  of  tropic 
tornadoes,  and  subside  as  quickly,  leaving  little  or  no 
destruction  in  their  train,  seldom  bearing  malice,  or  feel- 
ing in  the  least  ashamed  of  their  outbreaks.  What  nature 
prompts  them  to  do  or  say  seems  to  them  the  right  thing, 
and,  they  go  in  for  it  with  simple  straightforwardness. 
This  seems  to  be  one  of  the  products  of  the  priestly  sys- 
tem, which  tickets  conscience  and  lays  it  away  upon  a 
shelf,  to  be  taken  down  and  overhauled  only  upon  stated 
occasions.  So  poor  easy  conscience  gets  much  out  of 
practice,  and  can  only  be  scared  into  action  occasionally 
by  the  thunders  of  the  Church. 

There  was  also  a  sort  of  supplement  to  Antonio,  called 
Antonuccio,  or  Little  Antonio.  He  was  a  rather  strange 
anomaly  in  Italy,  an  Italian  and  a  Mulatto ;  very  good- 
looking,  and  not  darker  than  the  average  Neapolitan; 
but  his  blood  betrayed  itself  in  the  unmistakable  woolly 


HER  LIFE,  LETTERS,   AND  MEMORIES.  121 


hair  of  the  negro  race.  Notwithstanding  his  hair,  how- 
ever, which  indeed  is  no  obstacle  in  Europe,  he  was  a  lady- 
killer,  and  his  place,  finally,  by  reason  of  these  fascinations, 
knew  him  no  more. 

Other  members  of  this  household  there  were,  surely  not 
unworthy  of  mention,  inasmuch  as  they  were  admitted  to 
as  close  companionship,  and  certainly  were  not  less  faith- 
ful and  devoted,  than  the  human  creatures  who  composed 
it ;  at  least  in  our  estimation.  Miss  Cushman  loved 
animals  always,  and  especially  dogs  and  horses.  Among 
the  former  the  most  worthy  of  note  was  "  Bushie,"  or  rather 
"  Bouche  Dhu,"  or  "  black  muzzle,"  her  original  Highland 
appellation.  Bushie  came  from  Edinburgh,  brought  by 
a  friend,  who  was  much  impressed  by  the  dog's  behavior 
on  the  train.  She  was  put  in  one  place,  and  there  re- 
mained without  moving  the  whole  journey.  She  was  a 
very  handsome  blue  Skye  terrier,  with  the  human  eyes 
and  attributes  of  that  race.  Her  first  appearance  was  not 
heralded  with  rapture  by  Sallie,  for  she  had  been  neglected 
as  to  her  coat,  which  hung  in  tangled  mats  all  over  her, 
and  the  orders  were  that  she  should  be  oiled  all  over 
and  kept  shut  up  for  a  time ;  and  there  was  much  care 
and  vexation  anticipated,  and  little  prevision  of  the  com- 
fort which  lay  cushioned  in  the  woolly  treasure.  So  Sal- 
lie  rather  rebelled  at  the  prospect ;  but  Miss  Cushman  said, 
"  Sallie,  you  will  do  your  duty  by  the  little  dog."  And 
then,  to  use  Sallie's  own  words,  "  I  carried  her  in  my  arms 
down  stairs,  and  the  little  thing  licked  me  all  the  way  down, 
and  by  the  time  I  got  to  the  kitchen  I  was  completely 
won  over."  This  was  the  beginning  of  a  deep  friendship, 
devoted  on  both  sides,  which  lasted,  without  flaw,  for  four- 
teen years ;  and,  indeed,  the  friendship  was  not  confined  to 
Sallie  and  herself.  The  loving  dog-heart  took  us  all  in, 
and  never  was  perfectly  content  unless  she  could  have  us 


122  CHARLOTTE   CUSHMAN : 

all  together.  To  her  mistress  she  was  perfectly  devoted. 
Bushie's  general  demeanor  was  discreet  and  sensible  in 
the  extreme.  We  all  thought  she  understood  all  that 
was  said  to  her ;  and,  more  than  that,  she  had  a  way  of 
speaking  for  herself  which  was  almost  human.  She  loved 
driving  passionately,  and  was  the  first  one  to  announce 
the  approach  of  the  carriage ;  however  sound  asleep  she 
seemed  to  be,  she  would  rouse  up,  and  give  herself  a 
shake  of  preparation  whenever  the  sound  of  those  special 
horses'  feet  was  heard  in  the  street.  Carriages  without 
number  would  pass  and  repass,  but  Bushie  made  no  sign ; 
at  the  first  note  of  these  she  would  be  ready,  make  her 
way  down,  and  leap  into  the  carriage,  taking  her  place  in 
sublime  contentment.  Then,  when  we  got  out  of  the  city, 
driving  through  this  gate  or  that,  into  the  country,  or 
around  the  old  walls,  her  great  joy  was  to  be  put  down  to 
run  with  the  carriage,  back  and  forth,  barking  at  the  horses, 
as  if  to  say, "  Come  on ;  how  slow  you  are  !"  and  then  cours- 
ing along,  ahead,  low  to  the  ground,  like  a  "  feckless  hairy 
oubit,"  as  Dr.  John  Brown  calls  one  of  her  compatriots ; 
the  happiest  of  the  happy.  But  Bush  was  not  always 
permitted  to  go.  Sometimes  there  was  no  room  for  her, 
and  then  she  was  deeply  injured  and  unhappy.  On  these 
occasions  her  faculty  for  speech  would  come  into  play. 
She  would  go  to  Sallie,  and  lying  down  flat  on  her  stom- 
ach, with  her  hind  legs  stretched  out  straight  behind  her, 
working  her  head  up  and  down  and  moving  her  forepaws 
from  side  to  side,  she  would  utter  a  peculiar  succession 
of  sounds,  of  varied  intonations,  as  much  like  speech  as 
anything  could  be  which  was  unintelligible.  "What  is 
it,  Bush  ? "  Sallie  would  say.  "  Have  they  gone  without 
you,  little  woman  ?  It  is  too  bad,  poor  Bushie  ! "  At  these 
words  of  sympathy  Bushie's  tones  would  grow  high  and 
hysterical,  and  she  would  have  to  be  taken  up  and  much 


HER  LIFE,  LETTERS,  AND  MEMORIES.  123 

petted  and  comforted.  Sometimes  in  the  evening  she 
would  have  another  complaint  to  make.  She  always  had 
her  saucer  of  milk  with  a  little  tea  in  it,  and  it  sometimes, 
but  rarely,  happened  that  a  pressure  of  guests,  or  other 
accident,  caused  it  to  be  forgotten.  She  would  try  first  to 
attract  attention  to  herself  by  sitting  up  on  her  hind  legs, 
first  on  the  sofa,  and  then,  if  not  noticed,  on  the  arm  of  the 
sofa,  solemn  and  grave  like  a  little  sphinx.  If  this  ma- 
noeuvre failed,  she  would  go  off  to  Sallie  and  have  a  long 
talk,  upon  which  Sallie  would  come  and  whisper  to  one 
of  us,  "  Did  you  forget  Bushie's  tea  ? "  The  sin  of  omis- 
sion acknowledged,  she  would  say  with  conviction,  "  I 
thought  so,"  and  go  away  to  make  good  the  deficiency. 
The  movement  of  which  I  have  spoken,  with  her  fore- 
paws.  Miss  Cushman  called  playing  the  piano.  "  Play  the 
piano,  Bushie,"  she  would  say ;  and  Bush  knew  perfectly 
well  what  was  meant,  and  would  go  through  the  perform- 
ance, accompanying  it  with  a  few  words  of  recitative,  with 
great  gravity  and  eclat.  Endless  was  the  pleasure  and 
comfort  this  dog  afforded  to  all  genuine  dog-lovers,  and 
many  were  the  moments  she  filled  as  nothing  else  can, 
because  there  is  nothing  in  this  world  which  so  fits  itself 
in,  without  jarring  upon  the  complex  and  subtle  move- 
ments of  the  human  mind,  as  a  dog  can;  nothing  so 
absolutely  loving,  faithful,  disinterested,  and  sympathetic 
as  the  dog  nature,  and  especially  the  Skye  dog  nature. 
Bushie  was  a  great  traveller ;  she  went  with  her  mistress 
everywhere ;  she  crossed  the  ocean  many  times ;  she  knew 
so  well  how  to  travel  by  rail,  that  it  scarcely  ever  occurred 
in  all  the  long  journeys,  even  on  the  Continent,  and  espe- 
cially in  France,  where  they  have  no  hearts  and  no  bowels 
of  compassion,  and  are  mere  machines  where  official  duty 
is  concerned,  that  she  was  ever  confiscated,  or  put  in  the 
black  hole.     She  was  so  wise  and  quiet,  that  even  the 


124  CHARLOTTE  CUSHMAN : 

lynx-eyed  guardians  of  the  trains  never  discovered  her. 
She  knew  perfectly  well  that  she  was  contraband,  and 
submitted  to  any  kind  of  restraint  patiently.  Then  her 
joy  when  we  arrived,  and  she  could  feel  free  once  more, 
was  unbounded,  and  so  plainly  manifested  that  no  one 
could  doubt  that  reason  as  well  as  sound  logic  had  exer- 
cised her  brains  on  the  subject. 

At  length,  after  a  varied  and  honorable  career,  during 
which  she  gave  us  the  minimum  of  trouble  and  the  max- 
imum of  pleasure,  the  fatal  moment  came  to  Bushie,  as 
it  must  to  all  of  us.  She  sickened  and  died  in  Eome 
in  the  spring  of  1867,  still  in  the  fulness  of  strength  and 
beauty,  although  fifteen  years  of  age.  On  that  night, 
when  watching  over  her  last  moments,  friends  came  in  as 
usual,  but  there  was  a  heavy  cloud  over  the  household. 
One  among  them,  a  young  English  poet  and  artist,  who 
knew  nothing  of  what  was  transpiring  above  stairs,  wrote 
the  next  day  the  following  note,  which  seems  worthy  of 
transcribing  here. 

"  Dear  Miss  Cushman  :  I  was  sorry  that  I  should  have  re- 
mained so  long  with  you  last  evening,  when  I  learned  that  you 
had  just  lost  a  favorite  pet  animal  and  were  suffering  that 
pain.  Those  misfortunes  are  not  always  the  easiest  to  bear 
of  which  the  world  thinks  the  least,  any  more  than  those  are 
the  greatest  which  may  appear  so.  The  loss  of  any  living 
creature  to  which  the  epithet  '  most  faithful '  may  be  ap- 
plied is  certainly  among  the  very  real  ones. 

"  May  I  be  permitted,  therefore,  to  express  my  sympathy 
with  you  under  the  loss,  and  beg  to  be  accepted, 

"Your  faithful  and  obedient  servant, 

"W.  D." 
"  P.  S.     The  Latin  word  for  '  most  faithful '  is  fidelissimus  ; 
but  I  suppose  the  feminine  termination  would  be  a,  — Jidelis- 

Dear  Bushie  lies  buried  in  the  garden  of  No.  38,  Via 


HER  LIFE,  LETTERS,  AND  MEMORIES.  125 

Gregoriana.  Over  her  remains  stands  a  broken  antique  pil- 
lar, around  the  base  of  which  cluster  the  acanthus,  violets, 
and  many  sweet  flowers.  Upon  the  marble  is  engraved, 
"  Bushie,  Comes  Fidelissima."  She  was  the  dog  par  excel- 
lence, but  there  were  others  in  the  family.  One,  a  Scotch 
terrier  of  the  pepper-and-mustard  breed,  named  Brier,  was 
run  over  by  the  carriage  and  buried  where  he  fell,  in  a  lonely 
part  of  the  Campagna.  Another  was  Teddy,  a  toy  terrier 
of  the  English  breed,  who  afterwards  became  the  property 
of  a  dear  friend.  Miss  Blagden  of  Florence.  She  was  a 
devoted  dog-lover,  and  much  might  be  written  of  her  dog 
and  cat  family,  which  was  composed  of  strays  and  waifs 
'which  her  benevolence  toward  the  canines  induced  her 
to  give  home  and  care  to.  One  of  these,  the  ugliest  kind 
of  a  poodle,  she  rescued  from  some  boys  who  were  amus- 
ing themselves  in  drowning  it  by  inches  in  Venice.  It 
was  without  form,  and  void  of  grace  or  comeliness,  so  she 
bestowed  upon  it  the  classic  name  of  "  Venezia  "  ! 

Miss  Isa  Blagden's  name  must  not  be  passed  over  with 
slight  mention  in  this  record.  She  was  one  of  Miss  Cush- 
man's  most  faithful  friends,  a  warm,  true,  and  ardent  soul, 
whom  Florence  and  many  friends  will  long  remember. 
She  died  in  1873,  and  the  obituary  notices  of  her  death 
speak  of  her  as  "  one  well  known  in  the  world  of  letters, 
and  remarkable  for  the  warmth  of  attachment  she  inspired 
in  men  and  women  of  acknowledged  genius,  as  well  as  for 
her  own  intellectual  gifts.  Miss  Blagden  was  linked  to 
Mr.  Browning  and  his  illustrious  wife  by  ties  of  the  clos- 
est friendship.  She  nursed  the  latter  in  her  last  illness, 
and  performed  the  same  loving  office  for  Theodosia  Trol- 
lope,  to  whose  memory,  as  well  as  to  Mrs.  Browning's, 
grateful  Florence  has  erected  a  commemorative  tablet.  It 
may  be  added  that  her  charitable  presence  gladdened  the 
last  moments  of  many  more  obscure  sufferers  in  the  fair 


126  CHARLOTTE  CUSHMAN : 

city  where  she  lived  and  died,  and  where  she  will  be  long 
remembered  as  a  conspicuous  and  honored  figure."  When- 
ever Miss  Cushman's  journeys  to  and  from  England  took 
Florence  in  their  way,  she  rarely  failed  to  pause  for  a  time 
at  Miss  Blagden's  villa,  on  the  classic  hill  of  Bellosguardo, 
where  she  dispensed  for  many  years  a  genial  and  charm- 
ing hospitality.  When  haste  made  this  visit  impossible, 
Miss  Blagden  would  go  any  distance  to  meet  the  travellers 
and  exchange  with  them  a  passing  greeting.  On  one  oc- 
casion, when  Miss  Cushman  was  hurrying  to  England  to 
her  mother's  death-bed,  after  a  night's  journey,  as  the 
train  rolled  into  the  station  in  the  early  morning,  there 
sat  the  faithful  little  woman  on  the  platform,  having  risen 
in  the  small  hours  and  come  a  long  distance  from  the 
country  to  exchange  a  hurried  farewell.  Miss  Cushman, 
as  long  as  she  herself  lived,  kept  her  memory  green  by 
ministering  care  of  her  grave  in  the  Protestant  cemetery 
at  Florence. 

Miss  Blagden  was  on  a  visit  to  Miss  Cushman  in  Eome, 
at  the  time  of  Bushie's  death,  and  her  loving  sympathy 
inspired  the  following  tribute :  — 

TO  DEAR  OLD  BUSHIE. 

FROM   ONE  WHO   LOVED   HER. 

Much  loviiig  and  much  loved,  dare  I, 

With  my  weak,  faltering  praise, 
Record  thy  pure  fidelity, 

Thy  patient,  loving  ways  ; 

Thy  wistful,  eager,  gasping  sighs, 

Our  sullen  sense  to  reach  ; 
The  solemn  meaning  of  thine  eyes, 

More  clear  than  uttered  speech  ; 

Thy  silent  sympathy  with  tears, 

Thy  joy  our  joys  to  share  ; 
In  weal  and  woe,  through  all  these  years. 

Our  treasure  and  our  care  ; 


HER  LIFE,  LETTERS,  AND  MEMORIES.  127 

Thy  dumb,  adoring  gratitude, 

Noble,  yet  tender  too, 
Respondent  to  each  varied  mood, 

Not  human,  but  more  true  ? 

They  say  we  are  not  kin  to  thee, 

Thy  race  unlike  our  own,  — 
O  that  our  human  friends  could  be 

Like  thee,  thou  faithful  one  ! 

The  wondrous  privilege  of  love. 

Love  perfect  and  entire, 
"Was  thine,  true  heart ;  to  naught  above 

Can  human  hearts  aspire  ! 

From  all  our  lives  some  faith,  some  trust, 

With  thy  dear  life  is  o'er  ; 
A  life-long  love  lies  in  thy  dust ; 

Can  human  grave  hold  more  ? 

After  Bushie,  our  desire  for  dogs  was  naturally 
somewhat  quenched,  and  we  did  not  seek  to  replace  her ; 
but  the  gracious  gift  of  another  Skye  of  good  blood  and 
antecedents  at  Malvern  could  not  be  rejected,  and  a  few 
words  must  be  said  concerning  this  dear  dog  also.  She 
was  called  "  Duchess,"  as  her  mothers  and  grandmothers, 
and  Dr.  John  Brown  knows  how  many  more  generations 
back,  had  been  called  before  her.  Any  one  so  disposed  may 
read  in  that  delightful  book  called  "  Horse  Subsecivae  "  in 
England,  and  "  Spare  Hours  "  in  America,  the  story  of  this 
family,  under  the  head  "  Duchess."  She  was  a  worthy 
descendant  of  this  illustrious  line,  full  of  ability,  capacity, 
and  good  sense.  Her  docility  was  especially  remarkable ; 
she  rapidly  acquired  any  desired  trick  or  accomplishment, 
and  seemed  to  have  real  enjoyment  in  the  performance 
of  them.  It  was  enough  to  give  her  the  idea  that  you 
wanted  her  to  do  a  special  thing,  and  she  set  herself  to 
acquire  it,  with  what  seemed  like  real  thoughtfulness. 


128  CHARLOTTE  CUSHMAN : 

She  could  sit  up,  stand  up,  walk  about  on  Ler  hind  legs, 
sit  with  her  paws  on  the  table,  and  preach,  when  requested 
to  do  so,  with  great  unction ;  speak  when  spoken  to,  play 
games  of  hide  and  seek  with  untiring  assiduity,  never 
giving  up  an  object  until  she  had  found  it ;  and  yet,  with 
all  these  cultivated  tastes,  her  behavior  out  of  doors  was 
always  that  of  the  most  abandoned  child  of  nature.  To 
see  her  leap  through  long  grass  or  ferns  was  a  sight  to 
behold  for  gracefulness  and  beauty.  Duchess  was  also 
a  good  traveller;  instead  of  concealing  her  as  we  had 
always  done  Bushie,  it  was  found  best  to  let  her  take  care 
of  herself ;  in  the  stations  she  seemed  to  know  she  must 
not  identify  herself  with  us,  and  we  carefully  avoided 
taking  notice  of  her,  further  than  keeping  her  in  sight. 
She  would  sit  off  at  a  distance,  perfectly  composed  and 
calm  in  the  midst  of  the  direful  confusion  of  the  station, 
but  watching  her  opportunity  carefully;  and  when  we 
were  passed,  as  is  the  custom  on  Continental  railways, 
like  prisoners  being  let  out  upon  the  platform,  and  hurried, 
first  come  first  served,  to  get  the  best  places  we  could,  she 
would  get  through  between  the  feet  of  the  crowd  and  into 
the  carriage  in  the  same  way,  ensconcing  herself  under 
the  seat,  and  only  showing  herseK  when  we  were  fairly 
started.  One  of  these  journeys  —  our  last  journey  from 
Eome  —  occurs  to  my  remembrance.  We  had  with  us 
a  cage,  with  a  pair  of  canary-birds,  members  of  a  large 
family  left  behind,  which  had  grown  and  increased  year 
by  year,  and  made  vocal  and  cheerful  the  back  entrance  to 
the  house.  These  little  birds  were  mated,  and  afterwards 
in  Paris  completed  their  domestic  arrangements,  and  the 
little  wife  was  sitting  on  four  eggs,  when  it  came  our 
time  to  cross  over  to  England.  Of  course  we  expected 
that  the  racket  of  the  journey  would  break  up  this  domes- 
tic felicity,  but  it  could  not  be  helped.     To  our  surprise. 


HER  LIFE,  LETTERS,  AND  MEMORIES.  129 

however,  the  devoted  little  creature  stuck  to  her  duties 
through  all  the  thundering  noises  of  the  stations,  the 
vibration  and  rattle  of  the  express-train,  the  moving  and 
tossing  of  the  channel  steamer.  The  cage  was  well 
wrapped  up,  leaving  only  a  small  space  at  the  top  for 
air.  When  looked  in  upon  through  this  opening  she  was 
always  found  in  her  nest,  and  the  little  yellow  head  would 
turn  and  the  bright  eye  glance  upward,  as  much  as  to 
say,  "  What  does  it  all  mean  ?  How  long  this  tornado 
lasts  ! "  And  then  she  would  snuggle  down  again,  saying 
more  plainly  than  words  by  the  movement,  "  Well,  come 
what  will,  my  place  is  here."  Well,  those  eggs  were 
hatched  shortly  after  our  arrival,  and  it  was  such  a 
remarkable  fact  in  natural  history,  that  we  hoped  much 
we  might  be  able  to  keep  the  little  creatures  which  had 
come  through  such  a  trying  experience ;  but  they  did  not 
thrive.  The  damp,  raw  English  spring  affected  them 
badly,  and  they  dropped  off  one  by  one.  The  parents 
came  to  this  country  and  lived  out  their  little  span,  much 
loved,  and  much  lamented  ;  but  they  never  succeeded  in 
raising  another  family,  even  under  the  most  favorable 
conditions. 

The  subject  of  the  household  creatures  is  not  complete 
without  some  mention  of  Miss  Cushman's  horses,  which 
she  held  in  the  same  warm  esteem  as  the  rest  of  her 
dumb  dependants.  She  was  a  great  lover  of  horses,  and 
possessed  many  rare  animals  in  her  time.  Of  these,  the 
first  and  best  loved  was  the  noble  English  blood-horse 
"  Ivan,"  a  bright  chestnut  of  incomparable  breeding.  He 
was  a  hunter  'par  excellence,  but  she  never  used  him  for 
hunting  in  Eome.  She  preferred  a  good  reliable  Eoman 
horse,  not  so  handsome,  but  wise  in  his  generation,  who 
knew  the  Campagna  thoroughly,  and  could  be  trusted  to 
get  himself  and  his  rider  safely  through  the  varied  snares 


130  CHAKLOTTE   CUSHMAN : 

and  pitfalls  of  that  fascinating  but  dangerous  ground. 
Grand  Ivan  would  have  faced  any  danger,  and  gone  over 
any  wall,  even  if  it  had  a  precipice  on  the  other  side  of  it ; 
but  Othello  would  know  where  he  could  go  and  where  he 
could  not,  by  the  sure  instinct  of  the  Campagna  horses, 
and  would  find  a  way  round,  or  positively  refuse  to  go 
where  danger  lurked.  There  were  many  dangers  in  this 
Campagna  riding ;  but  of  this  we  will  speak  in  another 
place.  Ivan  in  Eome  was  put  in  harness,  and  the  first 
time  he  felt  the  ignoble  traces  on  his  satin  skin  every 
vein  stood  out  over  his  body  in  high  relief,  and  the  thin 
fine  nostril  became  red  as  blood ;  ears,  eyes,  tail,  every 
part  of  him,  expressed  his  astonishment  and  disgust. 
But  he  was  of  too  noble  a  nature  to  disgrace  himself  by 
insubordination ;  he  submitted,  and  did  his  whole  duty 
ever  after  in  the  most  docile  and  admirable  way,  never 
losing  the  superb  bearing  and  action  which  always  char- 
acterized him.  When  the  Roman  house  was  broken  up 
Ivan  was  sent  to  good  friends  in  England,  and  lived  a 
happy,  honored  life  with  them,  carrying  a  lovely  lady  in 
the  Park,  and  always  distinguished  to  the  last  above  all 
others  by  his  uncommon  beauty.  Other  horses  there 
were,  but  we  will  only  recall  here  the  ponies,  Beduin, 
Charley,  and  Alwin.  The  first  was  a  Welsh  pony  of  good 
stock,  reared  by  a  dear  friend  who  brought  up  her  horses 
as  she  would  her  children,  and  consequently  created  in 
them  something  almost  equivalent  to  a  soul.  Beduin  was 
a  beautiful  little  creature,  full  of  genial  and  social  traits. 
He  loved  and  craved  human  society,  and  liked  nothing 
better  than  to  be  the  centre  of  a  circle  of  petting  and 
admiring  friends.  He  would  tuck  his  head  under  the 
hand  which  failed  to  pat  him ;  and  even  in  harness  and 
on  the  road  would  always  incline  toward  whatever  he 
was  meeting,  especially  if  a  dog  was  of  the  company. 


HER  LIFE,  LETTERS,  AND  MEMORIES.  131 

This  habit  obliged  his  driver  to  be  always  on  guard 
against  too  close  contact.  His  career  was  not  long  ;  the 
soft  Italian  climate  did  not  suit  his  mountain  tempera- 
ment ;  the  very  first  summer  he  was  left  in  Eome  he 
fell  ill,  and  nothing  could  save  him,  though  he  had  been 
sprinkled  by  the  priest  on  the  blessed  day  of  San  Antonio, 
to  please  the  Italian  groom,  who  duly  decorated  him  with 
ribbons  for  the  ceremony.  After  this  he  always  went  by 
the  name  of  "  The  Blessed  "  among  us.  Let  us  hope  that 
the  holy  rite,  though  it  failed  to  preserve  him  here,  may 
procure  for  him  admission  to  some  happy  hunting-ground 
across  the  border. 

He  was  replaced  by  Charley,  a  beautiful  English  pony, 
and  Alwin,  a  handsome  gray  ;  and  these  two  went  through 
many  of  the  Eoman  winters,  and  are  still  living,  —  the 
property  of  English  friends. 

Very  little  that  is  new  remains  to  be  said  of  the  famed 
Campagna  di  Eoma :  all  the  greatest  names  in  literature  and 
art  have  celebrated  it;  it  has  been  sung,  described,  painted, 
ad  infinitum.  Only  in  its  connection  with  Miss  Cushman's 
life  in  Eome  shall  I  refer  to  it ;  all  visitors  to  Eome  know 
how  potent  are  its  influences,  how  large  a  place  it  fills  to 
the  mind,  as  it  does  to  the  senses.  Eiding  in  the  Cam- 
pagna is  one  of  the  most  esteemed  pleasures  of  the  season, 
and  an  excellent  and  very  needful  stimulant  against  the 
enervating  Italian  climate.  Before  the  Eoman  hunt  was 
inaugurated,  riding  in  large  parties  was  the  custom,  and 
these  rides  were  much  more  pleasant,  though  less  excit- 
ing, perhaps,  than  the  hunt,  which  was  often  a  mere  meet 
with  a  few  wild  scampers  over  a  circumscribed  range  of 
country,  full  of  hair-breadth  'scapes,  and  little  other  result. 
It  is  true  there  was  an  immense  fascination  about  hunt- 
ing in  Eome,  on  the  score  of  picturesqueness  and  varied 
excitement.     The  meets  were  usually  held  at  the  most 


132  CHAKLOTTE  CUSHMAN  : 

beautiful  and  "historically  interesting'  points  that  could 
be  selected,  where  all  the  surroundings,  beside  gratify- 
ing the  eye,  supplied  to  the  mind  suggestive  material 
of  the  rarest  kind.  It  was  what  the  Italians  would  call 
a  "  comUnazione"  unsurpassed  in  beauty  and  interest.  All 
that  was  best  and  highest  and  prettiest  and  most  noted 
in  Eome  flocked  to  this  gathering,  —  the  Eoman  aristoc- 
racy, not  good  as  hunters  or  noted  for  skill  in  horse-flesh; 
the  sturdy,  solid,  undemonstrative  English,  with  soiled 
red  coats  speaking  of  real  work,  and  noble  horses  un- 
equalled for  speed  and  endurance ;  our  own  country  peo- 
ple, alert,  ready,  making  mistakes,  but  profiting  by  them, 
not  so  well  up  in  horses,  but  getting  every  bit  of  energy 
and  go  out  of  their  hacks,  "  trying  all  things,"  holding  on 
or  letting  go  with  equal  facility,  and  pretty  sure  to  be  in 
at  the  death,  though  what  is  technically  called  "the  death  " 
was  by  no  means  a  foregone  conclusion. 

The  Eoman  foxes  possessed  advantages  in  their  favor 
which  made  it  difficult  to  catch  them.  The  Campagna 
is,  in  fact,  in  many  places  a  vast  rolling  roof  covering 
buried  buildings,  and  honeycombed  everywhere  by  hidden 
galleries  and  hollows,  no  doubt  very  familiar  to  their  vul- 
pine habituees.  It  is  rarely  the  dogs  can  overtake  them 
far  from  their  burrows,  and  once  in  them  the  chase  is 
hopeless.  These  hollows,  or  grotti,  as  they  are  called,  are 
very  dangerous  to  riders,  the  thin  crust  of  earth  often 
giving  way  under  the  weight  of  the  horse,  and  throwing 
him  suddenly  to  the  ground,  sometimes  breaking  his  legs, 
or  inflicting  worse  damage.  There  is  no  warning  what- 
ever of  these  hidden  pitfaUs;  the  turf  looks  as  smiling 
over  them  as  elsewhere,  only  fate  lurks  below  and  seizes 
one  out  of  a  hundred  by  the  leg  which  happens  to  touch 
upon  the  small  weak  point.  Little  reck  the  hunters  of 
these  dangers,  however,  as  they  go  at  headlong  pace  after 


HER  LIFE,  LETTERS,  AND  MEMORIES.  133 

the  poor  little  game,  useless,  when  they  have  secured  it, 
except  for  self-glorification. 

But  hunting  is,  after  all,  only  a  pretext ;  the  fox  is  the 
least  part  of  it ;  and  we  cannot  condemn  heartily  a  sport 
which  leads  to  so  much  of  health  and  enjoyment  and 
manliness,  which,  as  in  these  Eoman  hunts,  brought  to- 
gether—  into  one  blazing  focus,  as  it  were — so  much  of 
the  interest  and  beauty  and  suggestiveness  of  the  famous 
capital  and  its  surroundings.  0,  those  unsurpassed  days, 
—  days  of  glory  and  beauty,  in  which  the  very  air  seemed 
like  golden  wine  burning  and  tingling  in  the  veins !  An 
atmosphere  so  pure  and  translucent  it  seemed  to  bring 
down  heaven  to  earth  or  lift  earth  to  heaven ;  a  vast  dis- 
tance lying  in  serene  repose  under  its  blue  shadows,  con- 
trasting the  animation,  the  brightness,  the  color  of  the 
immediate  foreground,  —  dogs,  horses,  people,  all  full  of 
joyous  excitement ;  pictures  everjrwhere,  charming  groups, 
breaking  and  shifting  and  changing  every  minute,  with 
ever  new  and  ever  effective  combinations;  finally,  the 
grand  outbreak,  when,  summoned  by  the  horn  of  the 
huntsman  and  the  deep  bay  of  the  hounds,  the  pageant 
sweeps  away  like  scarlet  leaves  scattered  before  the  wind. 
Meantime  the  carriages  and  the  lookers-on  follow  along 
as  they  can,  by  the  highway,  or  sometimes  taking  a  shoi-t 
cut  across  the  greensward,  hoping  that  one  of  those 
chances  which  so  often  occur  in  the  chase  may  bring  the 
hunt  back  upon  its  traces. 

Glorious  as  the  hunt  was,  its  attractions  by  no  means 
compensated  for  the  loss  of  the  rides,  which  the  greater 
attractions  of  the  hunt  caused  to  fall  into  disuse.  The 
rides  were  explorations  in  a  certain  sense ;  they  brought 
one  into  "strange  fields  and  pastures  new"  continually,  and 
often  into  very  great  difficulties  and  some  dangers  from 
venturing  into  the  "  pastures  new  "  aforesaid.     The  Cam- 


134  CHARLOTTE  CUSHMAN  : 

pagnoli,  or  shepherds  and  farmers  of  the  Campagna,  are 
very  jealous  of  intrusion  upon  their  fields,  and  often  with 
reason.  There  was  much  inexcusable  tampering  with 
their  rights  and  property,  in  the  shape  of  broken-down 
fences,  etc.  Some  adventurous  equestrians  even  rode 
with  a  small  hatchet  at  the  saddle-bow  for  this  purpose  ; 
and,  naturally,  the  owners  of  the  fences  resented  this 
bitterly,  and  were  at  times  aggressive,  even  to  the  ex- 
tent of  using  their  firearms,  —  at  least,  so  it  was  said; 
though  no  serious  mischief  of  that  kind  ever  occurred,  to 
my  knowledge.  There  was  also  another  danger,  in  the 
shape  of  the  savage  sheep-dogs,  trained  to  be  fierce  in 
the  protection  of  their  flocks.  It  was  not  pleasant  to 
have  a  dozen  or  more  of  these  creatures  baying  and 
barking,  and  sometimes  biting  the  horses'  heels,  and  dire- 
ful stories  were  told  of  what  they  were  capable  of  doing. 
These  dogs  and  the  beautiful  cattle  of  the  Campagna 
deserve  a  word  of  mention,  they  seem  so  appropriate  to 
the  locality.  The  dogs  have  little  tents  or  huts  made  of 
straw,  in  which  they  live;  and  sometimes  two  or  three 
soft,  shaggy  young  ones  sit  gravely  in  the  opening  of 
these  tents,  looking  forth  with  contemplative  aspect  upon 
the  world.  They  are  large,  handsome  creatures,  and  un- 
tiring and  most  intelligent  in  their  vocation,  supplement- 
ing the  efforts  of  their  masters  in  collecting  the  sheep 
with  wonderful  sagacity  and  zeal.  When  the  flock  is  all 
safely  huddled  together  in  the  appointed  spot,  the  dogs 
station  themselves  like  sentinels  at  a  distance,  seated  at 
regular  intervals  awaiting  further  orders. 

The  grand,  slow,  cream-colored  oxen  of  the  Campagna, 
with  their  wide-spread,  branching  horns  and  large,  soft 
black  eyes,  make  another  characteristic  feature  of  the 
scene,  enhancing  its  peaceful  solemnity.  Sometimes  in 
the  valleys,  which  intersect  the  Campagna  everywhere 


HER  LIFE,  LETTERS,   A.ND  MEMORIES.  135 

like  great  chasms  which  have  been  suddenly  rent  asunder 
by  volcanic  violence  in  the  otherwise  monotonous  plain, 
herds  of  small  active  horses  scamper  away  from  before  you, 
rushing  up  the  slopes  covered  with  cork-trees  and  ilex  and 
clothed  with  asphodel  and  other  wild  foliage,  stopping, 
when  they  have  attained  a  point  of  vantage,  to  gaze  with 
wild  eyes  at  the  intruders  upon  their  solitude.  These 
valleys  are  wonderfully  beautiful  and  picturesque,  gener- 
ally carpeted  with  the  softest  verdure,  broken  by  winding 
streams  which  have  to  be  crossed  often  at  the  risk  of  the 
equestrian.  You  descend  into  them,  like  Dante  and  Vir- 
gil into  the  recesses  of  the  Inferno ;  and,  indeed,  one  of 
the  most  noted  of  them  is  called  the  Valley  of  the  In- 
ferno. Not  that  they  are  like  the  Inferno,  or  even  the 
purgatorial  regions,  when  you  get  into  them.  On  the 
contrary,  they  are  decidedly  heavenly,  and  impart  very 
paradisaical  sensations  as  one  scampers  over  the  soft  turf 
and  follows  their  winding  and  constantly  varied  openings. 
The  wild  horses  above  mentioned  belong  to  the  noble 
families  of  Eome,  and  are  raised  in  large  numbers ;  each 
horse  bears  on  his  flank  the  brand  of  the  family  to  which 
he  belongs.  They  are  clever  little  horses,  sure-footed  and 
enduring,  but  not  very  handsome  in  the  eyes  of  a  connois- 
seur. Miss  Cushman's  favorite  mount  for  many  years 
was  a  black  Campagna  horse,  which  she  preferred  for 
safety  and  comfort  to  any  of  her  English  horses.  He  pos- 
sessed the  invaluable  quality  of  going  when  you  wanted 
him  to  go  and  not  going  when  you  did  not,  being  an 
honest  creature  who  did  the  best  that  was  in  him ;  the 
best  can  do  no  more  ! 

Emerging  from  these  valleys  in  the  same  sudden  way 
that  you  enter  them,  you  find  yourself  again  on  the  level  — 
or  apparently  level  —  Campagna,  and  the  eye  ranges  quite 
over  and  beyond  them  as  if  they  no  longer  existed.    Some 


136  CHARLOTTE  CUSHMAN : 

knowledge  of  tlie  Campagna  is  very  necessary  in  taking 
a  ride  of  any  length.  You  can  easily  get  lost  upon  it, 
and  wander  aimlessly,  at  times  stopped  by  fences  or  un- 
fordable  streams,  and  obliged  to  go  back  on  your  own 
tracks  again  and  again.  Memory  recalls  bow  on  one  such 
occasion  a  dinner-party  awaited  Miss  Cushman  at  home, 
and  night  fell  upon  fruitless  efforts  to  find  the  nearest 
way  back.  At  length,  emerging  upon  the  high-road,  it 
was  found  that  many  long  miles  lay  between  the  party 
and  its  destination,  and  they  arrived  at  last,  weary  and 
worn,  to  find  the  guests  assembled  full  of  consternation 
at  their  absence ;  but  the  dinner,  albeit  a  little  spoiled, 
was  not  the  less  merry  over  the  misadventure. 

Around  the  old  walls  was  also  a  favorite  ride,  always 
cool  in  the  heavy  shadows  of  the  massive  battlemented 
towers,  full  of  interest  and  variety  on  the  one  side,  if  not 
on  the  other,  though  the  walls  themselves  are  beautiful 
also  to  antiquarian  eyes  as  well  as  to  the  lover  of  nature, 
from  the  many  new  and  peculiar  growths  which  cluster 
upon  them.  It  was  possible  to  go  all  round  the  city  in 
this  circuit,  or  to  enter  again  at  any  one  of  the  numerous 
gates  which  open  at  intervals  through  the  solid  masonry. 
Nothing  could  be  more  varied,  more  peculiar,  more  quaint 
and  wonderful,  than  the  scenes  traversed  in  these  rides 
and  drives.  Often  we  paused  to  descend  from  the  car- 
riage and  explore  some  picturesque  ruin,  or  gather  wild- 
flowers  under  the  arches  of  the  massive  aqueducts,  which 
come  striding  into  Eome  from  all  points,  like  giants,  but 
beneficent  ones ;  some  ruined,  but  towering  grand  and 
massive  in  their  decay,  wreathed  and  decorated  with 
climbing  foliage,  and  framing  within  their  graceful  arches 
wondrous  pictures,  or  bearing  on  their  shoulders  the 
bright  and  abounding  water  for  which  Eome  is  famous. 

Toward  the  spring,  which  often  commences  as  early  as 


HER  LIFE,  LETTERS,  AND  MEMORIES.  137 

the  middle  of  February,  the  environs  of  Eome  burst  out 
into  a  succession  of  floral  enchantments,  unique  and  un- 
paralleled; the  roadside  banks  are  purple  with  violets, 
which  cluster  in  perfumed  groups  in  all  the  bosky  dells 
and  emerald  slopes  of  the  numerous  lovely  villas  in  the 
neighborhood  of  Eome.  Violet-gathering  —  by  hundreds, 
by  thousands,  by  the  bushel  —  is  the  feature  of  the  hour. 
The  very  air  is  full  of  them ;  and  later  on  comes  the  won- 
derful festa  of  the  anemones,  —  not  like  the  flaming  red 
flowers  with  the  black  hearts  which  light  the  way  along 
the  Eivi^re,  although  some  of  these  are  also  found  among 
them,  —  but  a  delicate,  single  cup,  of  endless  shades  of 
soft  color,  from  the  purest  white  through  all  the  tints  of 
lilac,  mauve,  and  pink ;  some  deep,  some  hardly  touched 
with  color,  no  two  alike.  They  spring  up  all  over  the 
grass,  and  never  seem  to  lessen  while  the  season  lasts,  for 
all  the  gathering.  Special  expeditions  to  gather  these 
sweet  children  of  the  spring  were  among  our  annual  pleas- 
ures. All  thought  the  anemones  enjoyed  it  too ;  for  they 
bloomed  and  opened  and  closed  night  and  morning  in 
water  quite  as  well  as  they  did  upon  their  native  heath. 
Some  took  them  up  root  and  all  and  made  mosaic  tables 
of  them ;  a  barbarous  practice,  which  must  end  in  depriv- 
ing the  fields  of  one  of  their  greatest  attractions. 

Besides  the  anemones  and  violets  were  no  end  of  other 
charming  growths,  whose  advent  each  spring  was  hailed 
with  never-failing  enthusiasm.  Flowers,  both  wild  and 
cultivated,  are  abundant  and  cheap  in  Eome.  Every  one 
will  remember  the  roses,  the  cyclamen,  the  famous  ranun- 
culi, like  roses  in  variety  and  beauty,  but  without  their 
perfume.  The  short  Eoman  spring  is  a  season  unsur- 
passed in  any  country  in  the  world ;  but  it  is  a  fleeting 
beauty,  which  must  be  caught  flying,  as  it  were  ;  for,  after 
a  few  short  days  of  virginal  perfection,  it  rushes  into  the 
full  flush  and  passionate  luxuriance  of  summer. 


138  CHAELOTTE  CUSHMAN : 

Miss  Cusbman  never  wearied  of  these  simple  pleasures, 
and.  each  one,  as  the  season  came  round,  was  welcomed  by 
her  with  ever  new  delight.  The  spring,  too,  inaugurated 
a  succession  of  excursions  to  the  many  points  of  interest 
about  Eome ;  to  Albano,  to  Tivoli,  to  some  new  excava- 
tion or  recently  discovered  treasure.  Thus  she  saw  the 
last  and  finest  portrait  statue  of  the  Vatican,  —  that  of 
Augustus  Csesar,  carrying  on  into  maturer  life  the  fine 
lineaments  so  well  known  in  the  head  of  the  young  Au- 
gustus, just  as  it  was  taken  from  the  earth,  still  "  stained 
with  the  variation  of  each  soil,"  broken  and  prostrate,  but 
full  of  nobleness,  artistic  and  imperial.  She  saw,  too,  the 
great  bronze  statue  of  the  young  Hercules  as  it  was  lifted 
from  its  bed  of  oyster-shells,  with  remnants  of  the  gilding 
which  had  once  covered  it  still  clinging  here  and  there, 
and  peered  curiously  into  the  opening  in  the  top  of  the 
head,  through  which  it  was  supposed  the  priests  had  ut- 
tered their  pretended  oracles. 

Ever  new  and  constantly  recurring  surprises  of  this 
kind  belong  to  Eome  alone,  where  the  long-buried  past 
rises  up  to  confront  the  present,  and,  ghostlike,  "  in  their 
habit  as  they  lived,"  the  actors  in  a  remote  antiquity  stalk 
again  across  the  stage.  Other  civilizations  we  know  lie 
buried ;  we  know  that  the  earth  teems  with  them ;  but 
they  lie  in  barren  desolation,  save  where  individual  effort 
and  enthusiasm  brings  them  with  difficulty  to  the  light 
of  day  ;  but  in  Eome  the  foot  unearths  them,  the  common 
way  is  strewn  with  them,  the  earth  is  hollow  with  their 
crumbling  remains,  the  river  rolls  its  yellow  tide  over 
them,  and  the  very  air  is  full  of  their  suggestions.  In 
Eome  alone  the  old  and  the  new  exist  together  and  can 
never  be  disunited. 

Following  upon  the  foregoing  description  of  Miss  Cush- 
man's  home  surroundings  in  Eome,  I  may  refer  to  a  letter 


HER  LIFE,  LETTERS,  AND  MEMORIES.  139 

lately  received  from  Miss  Elizabeth  Peabody  of  Boston, 
in  which  I  find  some  early  remembrances  and  later  refer- 
ences to  her  life  in  Eome,  which  are  interesting  and  val- 
uable. Speaking  of  the  first  time  she  saw  her  act  Queen 
Katharine,  she  says :  — 

*'  I  need  not  say  how  I  enjoyed  her  splendid  impersonation 
throughout,  but  specially  the  death  scene.  It  was  perfectly 
wonderful  how  she  blended  the  infirmities  of  dying  with  the 
majesty  of  her  spirit.  But  especially  I  was  struck  anew  with 
the  miraculous  genius  of  Shakespeare  as  evinced  in  that  last 
speech  to  Cromwell,  in  which  Queen  Katharine  characterized 
Wolsey,  in  those  sharp,  heavily  thought-freighted  sentences, 
which  it  was  obvious  must  be  just  so  concise  and  terse,  because 
the  fast-coming  death  so  overcame  her  power  to  utter  that  it 
was  only  by  the  intense  will  she  could  utter  at  all,  and  so 
was  forced  to  concentrate  in  the  few  words  of  each  sentence. 
Then  in  the  very  death  she  did  not  seem  to  struggle  much, 
did  not  evince  physical  pain,  only  torpor  of  organs.  She  went 
out  of  the  body  almost  visibly,  while  the  song  of  angels  was 
sung  behind  the  scenes. 

"When  she  returned  again  in  1860  she  gave  me  a  season 
ticket,  and  I  went  down  from  Concord  to  Boston,  and  saw  her 
through  the  whole,  constantly  surprised  to  new  admiration  by 
each  impersonation.  I  do  not  know  but  I  thought  Rosalind 
the  most  marvellous  of  all.  Her  wit  and  grace  and  make-up 
making  her  seem  but  twenty-eight ;  and  changing  my  former 
idea  of  a  petite  Rosalind  into  the  new  one  of  so  fine  and  large 
a  figure,  which  of  course  I  saw  Rosalind  must  have  been, 
to  match  the  force  of  character  that  conceived  her  bold 
enterprise. 

"Another  seven  years  passed  before  I  saw  her  in  Rome, 
and  experienced  the  generous  friendship  and  hospitality  which 
made  those  five  months  so  rich  in  opportunities  of  enjoyment. 
But  even  amid  the  glories  of  Rome  there  was  nothing  that  I 
studied  with  more  interest  and  intensity  than  herself.     Such 


140  CHARLOTTE   CUSHMAN : 

simplicity  and  directness  and  humility  of  heart  was  to  me 
most  touching  and  wonderful  in  a  person  of  such  magnificent 
executive  powers.  You  remember  the  conversations  at  those 
delightful  breakfasts,  to  which  she  invited  me  every  morning  1 
Never  was  my  own  mind  in  such  an  intense  state  of  activity. 
It  seems  to  me  that  I  came  to  my  mental  majority  that  year, 
and  all  my  own  life  and  the  world's  life,  as  history  had  taught 
it  to  me,  was  explained.  Principles  seemed  to  rise  up  over  the 
rich  scenery  of  human  life,  like  the  white  peaks  of  the  Alps 
over  the  Swiss  valleys,  which  were  to  me  the  most  exciting  and 
transporting  objects  in  nature,  —  transporting  surely,  for  they 
carry  one  beyond  the  limits  of  the  finite.  Do  you  recollect 
how  I  used  to  come  and  announce  my  discoveries  in  the  world 
of  morals  and  spiritual  life,  whose  gates  seemed  to  be  opened  to 
me  by  the  historical  monuments,  as  well  as  the  masterpieces  of 
art  1  What  golden  hours  those  were  when  such  grand  recep- 
tive hearts  and  imaginations  bettered  one's  thoughts  in  the 
reply !  And  were  not  some  of  those  evenings  symposia  of  the 
gods  1  Do  you  remember  one  when  she  read  *  The  Halt  before 
Rome'  to  Lord  Houghton,  Lothrop,  Motley,  Bayard  Taylor, 
yourself,  and  me  1  Can  you,  or  anybody  with  mortal  pen, 
describe  so  that  readers  could  realize  the  high-toned,  artistic, 
grandly  moral,  delightfully  human  nature,  that  seemed  to  be 
the  palpable  atmosphere  of  her  spirit,  quickening  all  who 
surrendered  themselves  to  her  influence"?  What  sincerity, 
what  appreciation  of  truth  and  welcome  of  it  (even  if  it 
wounded  her) ;  what  bounteousness  of  nature ;  and  how  the 
breath  of  her  mouth  winnowed  the  chaff"  from  the  wheat 
in  her  expression  of  observed  character  and  judgment  of 
conduct !  Those  she  loved  she  watched  over  that  no  shadow 
of  falsehood  or  of  infirmity  should  be  allowed  to  touch  their 
whiteness.  She  truly  *  respected  what  was  dear '  to  her,  and 
her  respect  was  a  safeguard  and  rescuer  from  moral  perils. 
One  of  the  last  times  I  saw  her  I  remember  her  earnest  affec- 
tionate appeal  to  a  young  friend  to  forget  herself  and  her 
appearance  to  others,  in  the  noble  unconsciousness  that  springs 


HER  LIFE,  LETTERS,  AND  MEMORIES.  141 

unbidden  from  surrendering  one's  self  to  some  generous  idea, 
and  the  sweet  impulse  of  making  others  happy  and  appreciated. 
It  must  have  waked  an  echo  that  will  forever  repeat  itself,  for 
I  think  it  may  have  been  the  last  time  the  young  girl  ever 
saw  her. 

"Have  you  recorded  that  conversation  of  hers  with  Mr. 
Peabody  when  she  returned  from  America,  and  asked  him  to 
withdraw  $25,000  from  American  securities  in  1860  ;  and  he 
said  *  0  no,  he  could  not  in  conscience  as  her  banker  do  it, 
for  of  course  the  business  men  of  the  w^orld  were  not  going  to 
let  this  war  go  on,'  and  gold  was  then  at  128;  and  she 
replied,  '  Mr.  Peabody,  I  saw  that  first  Maine  regiment  that 
answered  to  Lincoln's  call  march  down  State  Street  in  Boston 
with  their  chins  in  the  air,  singing  "John  Brown's  soul  is 
marching  on,"  and,  believe  me,  this  war  will  not  end  till 
slavery  is  abolished,  whether  it  be  in  five  years  or  thirty;  and 
gold  will  be  up  to  225  before  it  is  over"? 

"  With  all  her  respect  and  regard  for  Mr.  Seward,  who  said 
the  war  would  not  last  sixty  days,  she  trusted  her  own  in- 
tuition, which  certainly  in  this  case  was  proved  to  be  unerring. 

"  Ah  !  what  a  loss  she  is  to  me,  who  in  comparison  with  you 
and  her  family  only  touched  the  outside  of  her  circle  at  an 
occasional  tangent !  By  her  timely  gift  to  the  Boston  training- 
school  for  Kindergartners  she  sustained  the  cause  through  an 
early  peril  of  perishing  by  inanition,  for  my  sake.  She  after- 
wards offered  to  be  guaranty  nearly  to  the  sum  of  another 
$1,000  to  any  publisher  who  would  publish  my  lectures  on 
the  moral  meanings  of  history ;  that  is,  what  it  taught  the 
world  before  the  advent  of  Christ,  of  which  I  gave  her  the 
outline ;  and  I  meant  to  have  prepared  them  for  the  press  by 
rewriting  them  carefully.  I  never  knew  a  person  so  ready, 
and  even  ardent,  to  help  and  further  the  efforts  and  works 
of  others !  There  was  swimming-room  for  all  the  world  in 
her  heart  !  She  was  one  of  the  prophets  of  the  unity  of  the 
human  race,  —  a  proof  of  it,  indeed  ! 

"  I  enclose  you  a  letter ;  the  only  one  in  which  she  speaks 


142  CHARLOTTE  CUSHMAN : 

of  herself  at  any  length,  for  generally  her  letters  were  only 
full  of  her  correspondent's  interests  or  affairs.  You  must 
keep  it  in  a  golden  box,  for  I  value  it  above  all  things  else 
she  ever  gave  me." 

From  the  letter  above  alluded  to  I  make  the  following 
extract :  — 

"  Your  letter  has  done  me  good,  dear  friend,  and  not  the 
least  part  of  it  that  which  speaks  approvingly  of  my  beloved 
art,  and  all  that  it  takes  to  make  an  exponent  of  it.  It  has 
been  my  fate  to  find  in  some  of  my  most  intimate  relations 
my  art  '  tabooed,'  and  held  in  light  esteem.  This  has  always 
hurt  me ;  but  my  love  for  my  friends  has  ever  been  stronger 
than  my  pride  in  anything  else,  and  so  my  art  has  been 
'  snubbed.'  But  no  one  knows  better  than  myself,  after  all 
my  association  with  artists  of  sculpture  or  painting,  how  truly 
my  art  comprehends  all  the  others  and  surpasses  them,  in  so 
far  as  the  study  of  mind  is  more  than  matter !  Victor  Hugo 
makes  one  of  his  heroines,  an  actress,  say,  '  My  art  endows 
me  with  a  searching  eye,  a  knowledge  of  the  soul  and  the 
soul's  workings,  and,  spite  of  all  your  skill,  I  read  you  to  the 
depths ! '  This  is  a  truth  more  or  less  powerful  as  one  is 
more  or  less  truly  gifted  by  the  good  God." 


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CHAPTER  VII. 

BEHIND  THE  SCENES. 

"  The  eagle  suffers  little  birds  to  sing, 
And  is  not  careful  what  they  mean  thereby." 

TiUis  Andronicus. 
"  Love  all,  trust  a  few,  do  wrong  to  none." 

All's  Well  That  Ends  Well. 


ilHEEE  has  been  much  in  these  later  times  written 
and  said,  —  much  even  preached  regarding  the 
drama.  Mighty  changes  have  been  silently  at 
work  in  the  mimic  scene  as  elsewhere.  The  ban,  which 
for  so  many  ages  has  been  laid  upon  the  profession,  min- 
gling together  in  one  common  outlawry  the  good,  the  bad, 
the  gifted,  and  the  dull  alike,  which  has  been  an  insur- 
mountable barrier  to  those  within  and  to  many  without 
the  pale,  has  been  —  or  rather  is  in  a  fair  way  of  being  — 
lifted.  That  domain,  that  arena,  upon  which  not  only  the 
mimic  pictures  of  our  lives  are  represented,  but  where  life 
itself  can  best  exhibit "  its  form  and  pressure,"  is  beginning 
to  appear  in  its  true  meaning  to  the  minds  of  men :  the 
thoughtful  ones  among  them  no  longer  look  upon  it  as  a 
mere  amusement,  the  occupation  of  an  idle  hour;  they 
begin  to  speculate  upon  it,  to  look  curiously  into  it,  to 
revolt  at  the  injustice  with  which  it  has  been  condemned, 
to  see  with  "  larger,  other  eyes  "  into  its  vast  capabilities 
and  possibilities  for  good,  and  to  take  the  initiatory  steps 


144  CHARLOTTE  CUSHMAN  : 

toward  breaking  down  the  middle  wall  of  partition  which 
fences  off  from  us  one  of  our  truest  and  most  God-given 
forces  for  touching  the  hearts  and  awakening  the  con- 
sciences of  men. 

The  time  is  still  within  the  memory  of  many  of  us 
when  to  church-people  and  professors  of  religion  the 
very  name  of  the  theatre  was  Anathema;  when  for  a 
clergyman  to  be  seen  at  a  theatre  was  considered  a  grave 
offence  against  his  sacred  office;  now,  "the  Pulpit  and 
the  Stage  "  are  associated  together  in  eloquent  discourses. 
One  of  Boston's  most  saintly  men  honorably  united  Miss 
Cushman's  name  after  her  death  with  that  of  Dr.  Horace 
Bushnell,  drawing  a  parallel  between  their  respective  ca- 
reers equally  honorable  to  the  actress  and  to  the  divine. 
Now,  young  people  who  aspire  to  the  profession  say,  with 
truth,  when  argument  is  excited  against  their  choice,  "  I 
can  be  a  gentleman  (or  a  lady)  as  well  on  the  stage  as 
anywhere  else ;  it  depends  upon  myself :  and  as  to  tempta- 
tion, that  lies  in  wait  for  me  at  any  corner  of  the  city  as 
well  as  behind  the  scenes." 

There,  as  everywhere,  good  and  evil  mingle,  but  evil  is 
not  more  indigenous  to  the  soil  than  good ;  rather  less  so, 
if  we  take  into  consideration  how  much  evil  is  fostered 
and  encouraged  for  base  uses  by  those  into  whose  hands 
the  influences  of  the  theatre  for  good  or  evil  fall.  It  is 
the  custom  to  dwell  mucji  upon  the  temptations  of  an 
actor's  or  an  actress's  life.  It  may  be  doubted  if  these 
are  much  greater  there  than  elsewhere.  It  may  be  doubted 
if  the  average  of  yielding  is  greater  there  than  elsewhere. 
Miss  Cushman  often  said  that  her  experience  "behind  the 
scenes  "  had  shown  her  a  decided  average  in  favor  of  good- 
ness, purity,  and  honesty  of  life ;  instances  which  would 
do  honor  to  any  station  of  unpretending  conscientious  self- 
sacrifice  and  devotion, — worthy  mothers,  excellent  wives. 


HER  LIFE,   LETTERS,  AND  MEMORIES.  145 

faithful  friends.  There  can  be  no  more  thrilling  repre- 
sentations of  heroic  deeds  before  the  curtain  than  are 
often  going  on  in  undemonstrative  silence  and  patient 
endurance  behind  it.  There  is  no  class  more  kind  to  one 
another,  none  more  generous ;  their  faults  all  lean  to  vir- 
tue's side ;  and  when  we  reckon  up  their  sins  of  omission 
and  commission,  a  candid  and  unbiased  judgment  will 
admit  that  in  the  eternal  equilibrium  of  forces  their 
worser  qualities  will  surely  "kick  the  beam." 

"  Behind  the  scenes "  is  such  a  terra  incognita  to  the 
world  at  large,  that  few  are  able  to  judge  righteous 
judgment  from  the  standpoint  of  personal  experience. 
To  those  who  have  this  experience  it  ought  to  be  a  duty 
as  well  as  a  pleasure  to  speak  a  word  in  season  for  a 
much  misunderstood  and  ill-judged  class,  who  have  in- 
herited the  prejudices  of  ages,  and  yet  have  been  able  to 
show  so  many  shining  examples  of  genius  and  goodness 
to  the  admiration  of  the  world. 

It  was  one  of  Miss  Cushman's  crowning  glories,  that 
she  knew  how  to  reconcile  the  inconsistencies  and  har- 
monize the  discordances  of  this  peculiar  realm,  where  she 
reigned  with  the  same  undoubted  sovereignty  as  every- 
where else.  Her  mere  presence  on  the  boards  seemed  to 
give  life  and  value  to  what  was  too  often  a  mere  collection 
of  incongruous  materials.  Her  earnestness,  her  thorough- 
ness, seemed  to  be  at  once  infused  into  the  mass  of  iner- 
tia, ignorance,  and  indifference ;  all  had  to  do  their  best, 
because  she  always  did  her  best ;  and  her  best  was  not,  as 
in  so  many  instances,  a  mere  ego,  stalking  around,  wrapped 
in  its  own  sublime  self-confidence,  looking  down  upon 
and  ignoring  the  lesser  lights  as  of  no  consequence.  Her 
artistic  ideal  was  of  a  different  sort ;  she  knew  and  felt 
the  absolute  truth  of  the  old,  time-honored  law,  that 
"  God  hath  set  the  members  every  one  of  them  in  the 


146  CHAELOTTE  CUSHMAN  : 

body,  as  it  hatli  pleased  him That  there  should  be 

no  schism  in  the  body,  but  that  the  members  should  have 

the  same  care  one  for  another And  whether  one 

member  suffer,  all  the  members  suffer  with  it;  or  one 
member  be  honored,  all  the  members  rejoice  with  it." 
And  she  could  not  see  anything  working  wrongly  or 
ignorantly,  without  doing  her  very  best  to  right  it.  Her 
rehearsals  were  always  hard-working  lessons  to  all  about 
her;  and  that  in  no  unkind  or  harsh  spirit,  but  with  all 
the  kindly  helpfulness  of  her  nature,  suggesting,  encour- 
aging, showing  how  a  thing  ought  to  be  done,  and,  when 
she  saw  the  true  spirit  of  endeavor  and  improvement, 
giving  it  a  cheering  word  which  was  invaluable. 

This  peculiar  gift  of  hers  gave  occasion  for  a  very 
pleasant  demonstration  after  one  of  her  last  engagements 
at  Mr.  McVicker's  Chicago  Theatre,  which  may  be  fit- 
tingly mentioned  here.  After  her  last  performance,  as 
she  was  preparing  to  leave  the  theatre,  a  message  came  to 
her,  that  the  manager  would  be  glad  to  see  her  for  a  few 
moments  in  the  green-room.  There  had  been  no  whisper 
of  what  was  intended ;  it  was  totally  unexpected  to  her, 
when,  on  entering  the  green-room,  she  found  the  entire 
company  assembled,  expectation  in  all  their  faces.  The 
friendly  and  genial  manager  made  a  pleasant  little  speech, 
and  then  proceeded  to  read  the  following  letter :  — 

"  McVicker's  Theatre,  Chicago,  January  10,  1873. 
**  Miss  Charlotte  Cushman  :  As  members  of  a  profession  to 
which  you,  not  only  as  an  artist,  but  as  a  lady  and  true 
woman,  have  contributed  the  earnest  zeal  and  heartfelt  labors 
of  a  lifetime  to  ennoble  and  honor,  we,  members  of  Mr. 
McVicker's  Theatre,  desiring  to  express  to  you  our  appre- 
ciation, present,  through  our  worthy  manager,  this  circlet 
of  gold,  inscribed  with  the  motto  that  has  so  endeared  you 
to  us,  and  which  is  no  less  engraven  on  our  hearts,  namely. 


HER  LIFE,  LETTERS,  AND   MEMORIES.  147 

*  kind  words.'     May  your  happiness  here  and  in  the  great 
hereafter  be  only  symboled  by  this  golden  circlet,  '  endless.' " 
Signed  by  all  the  members  of  the  company. 

The  ring  was  a  plain  circlet  of  black  enamel,  having 
upon  it  in  gold  letters  the  simple  legend,  "  Kind  words. 
McVicker's  Theatre,  January  11,  1873,"  —  a  plain  me- 
mento, but  one  which  expressed  a  priceless  value.  Miss 
Cushman  made  a  hearty,  pleasant  speech  of  thanks,  and 
retired  beaming.  She  was  greatly  pleased  and  touched ; 
no  tribute  that  was  ever  paid  her  gratified  her  more. 

Behind  the  scenes,  as  before  them.  Miss  Cushman  was 
always  thoroughly  herself,  energetic,  capable,  equal  to 
any  emergency,  competent  to  any  necessity;  what  was 
right  she  would  have,  and  she  knew  how  to  bend  the  most 
stubborn  materials  to  her  behests ;  and  yet  this  was  never 
done  in  a  domineering  or  captious  spirit,  but  by  the  sheer 
force  of  "  character,"  that  most  supreme  of  gifts. 

Under  this  head  it  may  not  be  inappropriate  to  recall 
some  remembrances  of  the  part  which  more  than  any 
other  is  identified  with  her  name,  and  may  be  said  to 
have  been  her  own  special  creation,  that  of  Meg  Merrilies. 
I  have  sought  in  vain  among  the  newspaper  files  of  the 
period  for  the  absolute  date  of  her  first  performance  of 
this  character;  but  other  evidence  settles  it  as  having 
been  in  the  year  1840-41,  during  Braham's  first  and 
only  engagement  in  New  York,  and  at  the  Park  Theatre. 
Her  own  account  of  it  was  substantially  as  follows.  But 
first  it  may  be  mentioned  that  there  is  one  very  ancient 
newspaper-cutting,  which  is,  however,  without  name  or 
date,  in  which  the  fact  of  her  assumption  of  the  part  at  a 
moment's  notice  is  thus  alluded  to :  — 

"  Many  years  ago  Miss  Charlotte  Cushman  was  doing  at  the 
Park  Theatre  what  in  stage  parlance  is  called  '  general  utility 


148  CHARLOTTE  CUSHMAN : 

business,'  —  that  is,  the  work  of  three  ordinary  performers, 
filling  the  gap  when  any  one  was  sick,  playing  this  one's  part 
and  the  other's  on  occasion,  never  refusing  to  do  whatever  was 
allotted  to  her.  As  may  be  supposed,  one  who  held  this  posi- 
tion had  as  yet  no  position  to  be  proud  of.  One  night  '  Guy 
Mannering,'  a  musical  piece,  was  announced.  It  was  produced 
by  Mr.  Braham,  the  great  English  tenor,  who  played  Harry 
Bertram.  Mrs.  Chippendale  was  cast  for  Meg  Merrilies,  but 
during  the  day  was  taken  ill ;  so  this  obscure  utility  actress, 
this  Miss  Cushman,  was  sent  for  and  told  to  be  ready  in  the 
part  by  night.  She  might  read  it  on  the  boards  if  she  could 
not  commit  it.  But  the  *  utility  woman  *  was  not  used  to 
reading  her  parts ;  she  learned  it  before  nightfall,  and  played 
it  after  nightfall.  She  played  it  so  as  to  be  enthusiastically 
applauded.  At  this  half-day's  notice  the  part  was  taken  up 
which  is  now  so  famous  among  dramatic  portraitures." 

It  was  in  consequence  of  Mrs.  Chippendale's  illness 
that  she  was  called  upon  on  the  very  day  of  the  perform- 
ance to  assume  the  part.  Study,  dress,  etc.,  had  to  be  an 
inspiration  of  the  moment.  She  had  never  especially  no- 
ticed the  part ;  as  it  had  been  heretofore  performed  there 
was  not  probably  much  to  attract  her ;  but,  as  she  stood 
at  the  side-scene,  book  in  hand,  awaiting  her  moment  of 
entrance,  her  ear  caught  the  dialogue  going  on  upon  the 
stage  between  two  of  the  gypsies,  in  which  one  says  to 
the  other,  alluding  to  her,  "  Meg,  —  why,  she  is  no  longer 
what  she  was ;  she  doats,"  etc.,  evidently  giving  the  im- 
pression that  she  is  no  longer  to  be  feared  or  respected ; 
that  she  is  no  longer  in  her  right  mind.  With  the  words 
a  vivid  flash  of  insight  struck  upon  her  brain :  she  saw 
and  felt  by  the  powerful  dramatic  instinct  with  which 
she  was  endowed  the  whole  meaning  and  intention  of 
the  character  ;  and  no  doubt  from  that  moment  it  became 
what  it  never  ceased  to  be,  a  powerful,  original,  and  con- 


HER  LIFE,  LETTERS,  AND   MEMORIES.  149 

sistent  conception  in  her  mind.  She  gave  herself  with 
her  usual  concentrated  energy  of  purpose  to  this  concep- 
tion, and  flashed  at  once  upon  the  stage  in  the  startling, 
weird,  and  terrible  manner  which  we  all  so  well  remem- 
ber. On  this  occasion  it  so  astonished  and  confounded 
Mr.  Braham,  little  accustomed  heretofore  to  such  mani- 
festations, that  he  went  to  her  after  the  play  to  express 
his  surprise  and  his  admiration. 

"  I  had  not  thought  that  I  had  done  anything  remarkable," 
she  says,  "and  when  the  knock  came  at  my  dressing-room 
door,  and  I  heard  Braham's  voice,  my  first  thought  was,  *  Now, 
what  have  I  done  1  He  is  surely  displeased  with  me  about 
something ' ;  for  in  those  days  I  was  only  the  *  utility  actress,* 
and  had  no  prestige  of  position  to  carry  me  through.  Imagine 
my  gratification  when  Mr.  Braham  said,  *  Miss  Cushman,  I  have 
come  to  thank  you  for  the  most  veritable  sensation  I  have 
experienced  for  a  long  time.  I  give  you  my  word,  when  I 
turned  and  saw  you  in  that  first  scene  I  felt  a  cold  chill  run 
all  over  me.  Where  have  you  learned  to  do  anything  like 
thatr" 

From  this  time  the  part  of  Meg  grew  and  strengthened, 
retaining  always  its  perfect  unity  and  consistency,  until  it 
became  what  it  was,  an  absolute  jewel  of  dramatic  art,  — 
a  standing  comment  and  contradiction  of  the  oft-repeated 
assertion  that  the  public  must  and  will  have  variety.  The 
public  must  and  will  have  excellence ;  and  when  it  gets 
it,  cannot  have  it  too  often  repeated.  The  true  heart  of 
humanity  responds  always  to  truth;  and  recognizes  the 
absolute  ideal,  which  is  only  the  real  in  its  highest  mani- 
festation, and  thrills  as  one  string  when  the  master-hand 
touches  it.  If  theatrical  managers  and  theatrical  people 
could  only  once  recognize  this  and  act  upon  it,  what 
might  not  the  theatre  become  ?     A  book  might  well  be 


150  CHARLOTTE  CUSHMAN  : 

written  on  this  subject,  taking  the  part  of  Meg  as  its  text 
and  its  illustration. 

Meg,  behind  the  scenes,  was  quite  as  remarkable  as 
before  them.  It  was  a  study  for  an  artist,  and  has  been 
so  to  many,  to  witness  the  process  of  preparation  for  this 
notable  character,  —  the  make-upy  as  they  call  it  in  the 
parlance  of  the  theatre,  —  a  regular,  systematic,  and  thor- 
oughly artistic  performance,  wrought  out  with  the  same 
instinctive  knowledge  which  was  so  manifest  in  all  she 
did.  "  Miss  Cushman,"  a  distinguished  lady  artist  once 
said  to  her,  as  she  wonderingly  watched  the  process  where- 
by the  weird  hag  grew  out  of  the  pleasant  and  genial  linea- 
ments of  the  actress,  "  how  do  you  know  where  to  put  in 
those  shadows  and  make  those  lines  which  so  accurately 
give  the  effect  of  age  ?"  "I  don't  know"  was  the  answer; 
"  I  only  feel  where  they  ought  to  come."  And  in  fact  the 
process  was  like  the  painting  of  a  face  by  an  old  Dutch 
master,  full  of  delicate  and  subtle  manipulations,  and  yet 
so  adapted  to  the  necessities  of  space  and  light  that  its 
effect  was  only  enhanced,  not  weakened,  when  subjected 
to  them. 

Everybody  will  remember  this  vision  of  age,  glowing 
with  purpose,  instinct  with  fidelity,  inspired  with  devo- 
tion even  unto  death,  —  strong  yet  weak,  full  of  the  con- 
trasts of  matter  and  spirit,  subordinated  even  in  all  its 
material  manifestations  to  the  master  conception.  "  It 
is  terrible,"  says  one  ;  "  it  tears  one  all  to  pieces."  "  It  is 
lovely,"  says  another ;  "  it  melts  my  heart."  "  She  is  a 
witch,"  says  a  third,  "  from  the  crown  of  her  head  to  the 
tips  of  her  toes."  Look  at  that  attitude !  the  very  limbs 
express  and  typify  a  life  of  privation,  of  hardship,  of  suf- 
fering. Hear  that  laugh !  it  thrills  one  with  the  super- 
natural emphasis  of  a  spirit  more  than  a  human  creature. 
Then,  again,  listen  to  the  soft,  tender,  loving  tones  of  the 


HER  LIFE,  LETTERS,  AND  MEMORIES.  151 

voice,  as  with  the  tremulousness  of  age  it  croons  over 
the  boy  the  songs  of  his  infancy,  or  changes  to  ringing 
notes  of  ecstatic  joy  as  she  sees  awakening  in  his  mind 
the  dim  remembrances  she  is  seeking  to  evoke. 

The  costume  of  Meg  is  another  subject  upon  which 
much  of  interest  might  be  written ;  how  it  gradually  grew, 
as  all  artistic  things  must,  from  the  strangest  materials  ;  a 
bit  picked  up  here,  another  there,  —  seemingly  a  mass  of 
incoherent  rags  and  tatters,  but  full  of  method  and  mean- 
ing;  every  scrap  of  it  put  together  with  reference  to 
antecedent  experiences,  —  the  wind,  the  storm,  the  out- 
door life  of  hardship,  the  tossing  and  tempering  it  had 
received  through  its  long  wanderings ;  and  which  to 
an  artist's  eye  is  beyond  price,  seemingly  a  bundle  of 
rags,  and  yet  a  royal  garment,  for  the  truly  queenly 
character  of  the  old  gypsy  ennobled  every  thread  of  it. 
How  many  of  those  who  felt  this  quality  in  the  wearer 
noticed  how  the  battered  head-dress  was  arranged  in 
vague  and  shadowy  semblance  to  a  crown,  the  gnarled 
and  twisted  branch  she  carried  suggesting  the  emblem 
of  command  ? 

Much  and  great  has  been  the  wonder  of  those  who  saw 
the  dress  off  her  person,  how  she  ever  contrived  to  get 
into  it ;  no  earthly  creature,  but  herself  and  Sallie,  knew 
the  mysterious  exits  and  entrances  of  that  extraordinary 
garment,  the  full  completion  of  which  seemed  like  a 
nightly  miracle,  so  homogeneous  did  she  and  it  become 
when  brought  in  contact ;  so  completely,  as  she  got  it 
on,  did  she  enter  into  the  personality  of  Meg  and  leave 
her  own  behind.  She  was  always  particular  and  perfect 
in  her  make-up,  and  would  have  been  for  an  audience 
of  a  dozen  as  for  one  of  thousands.  At  times,  with  so 
much  wear  and  tear,  some  part  of  the  costume  would 
require  renewal ;  the  stockings,  for  example,  would  w^ear 


152  CHARLOTTE  CUSHMAN  : 

out,  and  then  no  end  of  trouble  would  come  in  preparing 
another  pair,  that  the  exact  tint  of  age  and  dirt  should 
be  attained.  This  she  achieved  with  her  own  hand,  by 
immersing  them  in  a  peculiar  dye  which  she  had  pre- 
pared from  different  ingredients  not  generally  known  to 
the  regular  dyers.  During  all  the  early  period  of  the 
performance  of  this  part,  when  it  was  used  more  as  an 
operetta  than  a  drama,  it  was  the  custom  for  the  dra- 
matis personce  to  sing  a  finale  after  the  death  of  Meg. 
This  interval  gave  Miss  Cushman  opportunity  to  wash 
the  paint  from  her  face  and  remove  the  head-dress  and 
gray  hair  of  Meg,  so  that  when  she  was  recalled  —  as 
she  always  was  —  she  came  before  the  audience  her  own 
sweet,  smiling,  pleasant  self  The  contrast  between  the 
wild,  weird,  intense  face  of  Meg  and  the  genial  aspect  of 
the  actress  was  a  veritable  sensation,  which  it  was  a  pity 
to  lose  when  afterward  the  musical  finale  was  omitted, 
and  the  piece  concluded  with  the  death  of  Meg. 

Always,  wherever  Meg  was  represented,  there  sprang 
up  among  the  "  hero- worshippers,"  a  strong  desire  to  pos- 
sess some  memento  of  the  part  and  the  actress.  The 
stick  which  she  carried  was  always  greatly  in  demand ; 
and  as  it  was  one  of  the  "  properties,"  and  always  newly 
provided  for  each  engagement,  there  must  be  many  of 
these  relics  scattered  about  the  country.  Of  those  which 
she  used  on  the  several  occasions  of  farewell,  it  may  be 
mentioned  that  the  one  she  carried  in  Philadelphia  became 
the  property  of  Mr.  Joseph  Lee  of  that  city,  who  writes 
thus  pleasantly  about  it :  — 

"  My  dear  Miss  Cushman  :  Might  a  friend  who  equally 
admires  and  loves  you  ask  a  very  great  favor  %  I  am  *  crazy 
to  acquire  '  the  stick  which  you  will  use  next  Saturday  after- 
noon as  Meg,  to  put  it  in  my  library  as  a  precious  souvenir  of 
yourself  and  your  great  personation. 


HER  LIFE,  LETTERS,  AND   MEMORIES.  153 

"  I  will  be  on  hand  to  receive  it  from  you,  if  you  will  have 
the  goodness  to  present  it  to  me.  I  asked  this  of  you  two 
years  ago,  but  it  probably  escaped  your  memory  at  the  time." 

The  Boston  one  was  given  to  her  friend  Mr.  Addison 
Child,  and  the  one  she  carried  during  her  last  engage- 
ment in  New  York  is  at  Villa  Cushman,  with  the  other 
sacred  relics  of  the  character ;  another  one  is  preserved 
in  St.  Louis,  the  special  property  of  the  children.  Apro- 
pos of  the  sticks  :  on  one  occasion,  while  acting  in  one 
of  the  New  England  towns.  Miss  Cushman  received  a 
note  from  a  citizen  of  the  place,  telling  her  that  he  was 
the  possessor  of  a  stick  which  she  had  carried  many  years 
before,  which  he  highly  prized,  and  asking  of  her  the 
great  favor  that  she  would  allow  him  to  bring  it  to  the 
theatre,  that  it  might  be  used  again.  She  was  always 
simply  pleased  with  these  little  incidents,  and  rendered 
an  added  grace  to  the  favor  by  the  pleasant  manner  in 
which  she  responded  to  the  request.  While  upon  the 
subject  of  relics,  I  may  insert  here  a  note  written  to  the 
family  after  Miss  Cushman's  death  by  Mr.  Gibson  Pea- 
cock of  Philadelphia. 

"  I  do  not  want  to  write  a  long  letter  at  this  time,  but  I 
must  tell  you  of  an  incident  that  has  affected  me  much  and 
given  me  a  better  opinion  of  human  nature.  Mr.  Pugh  came 
to  see  me  yesterday,  and,  with  a  good  deal  of  feeling,  asked 
me  to  accept  from  him  as  a  gift  the  reading-desk  and  chair  he 
had  had  made  for  your  aunt,  and  which  she  had  used  at  all  her 
readings  in  Philadelphia.  He  thought,  as  I  had  introduced 
him  to  her,  I  was  the  proper  person  to  own  them,  especially 
as  he  never  intended  that  any  one  else  should  use  them.  They 
are  in  this  house  now,  and  the  most  sacred  of  its  inanimate 
contents.  I  told  him  that  I  accepted  them,  and  that  after  my 
wife  and  I  are  gone  they  are  to  go  to  your  family,  and  this  I 
want  you  and  your  children  to  bear  in  mind." 


154  CHARLOTTE   CUSHMAN  : 

Another  character,  not  so  renowned  as  Meg  Merrilies, 
but  of  somewhat  the  same  type  and  class,  may  be  remem- 
bered by  many.  It  was  a  part  which  Miss  C ashman  had 
often  assumed  in  her  early  days  at  the  Park  Theatre, 
when  she  had  no  choice;  and  the  remembrance  of  the 
powerful  effect  she  had  produced  in  it  was  a  tradition 
which  lingered  in  the  memory  of  managers,  and  caused 
them  ever  and  anon,  as  their  business  interests  prompted, 
to  bring  great  pressure  to  bear  upon  her  for  a  reproduction 
of  it.  She  was  too  true  an  artist  to  be  much  influenced  by 
the  opinions  of  others  concerning  her  art;  and  the  idea 
that  any  impersonation  which  she  could  feel  strongly  her- 
self .and  through  which  she  could  influence  the  feelings 
of  others,  could  possibly  lower  her  dignity  or  her  position 
as  an  artist,  she  could  not  accept  for  a  moment.  As  well 
say  that  a  great  writer  lowers  himself  by  producing  such 
types  of  character. 

It  was  sufficient  for  her  that  she  found  in  the  part 
of  Nancy  Sykes  a  great  opportunity,  to  which  she  was 
fully  equal;  and  it  was  characteristic  of  her,  that  she 
shrank  from  nothing  in  it,  and  was  able  to  descend  into 
the  depths  of  its  abasement  as  thoroughly  and  potently 
as  she  ascended  to  the  highest  range,  and  touched  the 
noblest  notes  of  the  varied  symphony  of  human  nature. 

There  is  a  nobility  latent  in  these  struggling  souls, 
which  Dickens  knew  how  to  recognize  and  Miss  Cush- 
man  to  feel  and  interpret.  In  poverty,  in  degradation,  in 
despair,  in  the  bare  plain  dress  of  the  people,  with  no 
accessories  of  beauty  or  refinement  to  blunt  the  keen 
edge  of  the  naked  truth,  she  presented  a  picture  worthy 
to  live,  worthy  to  be  commemorated  here,  for  it  shone 
with  the  pure  light  of  Divine  truth,  piercing  through  all 
the  gloom  and  darkness  which  surrounded  it.  The  never- 
dying  stoiy  of  inherent  virtue,  nobleness,  and  heroism 


HER  LIFE,  LETTERS,  AND  MEMORIES.  155 

springing  up  from  the  foulest  soil,  the  old,  old  story  of 
good  rising  triumphant  out  of  evil,  and  faithful  even  unto 
death,  even  unto  martyrdom. 

One  cannot  quite  recognize  why  the  repulsive  details 
of  such  a  picture  should  be  so  readily  accepted  when 
clothed  in  all  the  elaboration  of  an  author's  imagination, 
and  yet  be  found  so  shocking  when  acted  out  before  the 
eyes ;  yet  this  distinction  has  always  been  more  or  less 
carefully  drawn.  It  would  seem  to  depend  much  upon 
the  manner  in  which  it  is  done ;  excellence  confounds  all 
cavilling.  Miss  Cushman's  representation  of  this  char- 
acter was  its  own  best  excuse  for  being.  It  was,  like 
Hamlet,  Eomeo,  Cardinal  Wolsey,  unique  in  the  strong 
ability  which  made  it  possible,  —  one  of  the  laurel-leaves 
of  the  crown,  and  not  unworthy  to  be  one  of  that  glorious 
company. 

The  following  letter,  as  showing  Miss  Cushman's  prompt 
and  courageous  manner  of  dealing  with  any  subject  which 
seemed  to  call,  as  she  herself  says,  for  some  one  to  throw 
themselves  into  the  breach,  explains  itself.  Although  this 
was  an  abuse  to  which  she  had  long  ministered  in  the 
sacred  cause  of  charity,  when  the  proper  moment  came 
for  a  word  in  season,  it  was  uttered  freely  and  fearlessly. 

"The  dramatic  critic"  of  a  newspaper  in  a  neighboring 
city  recently  wrote  to  Miss  Cushman,  asking  her,  without 
much  ceremony,  to  give  a  gratuitous  representation  for 
the  benefit  of  the  poor  of  that  place,  and  requesting  her 
to  answer  by  telegraph  " yes "  or  "no."  To  this  summons 
Miss  Cushman  sent  the  following  sensible  and  appropriate 
reply:  — 

"  Dear  Sir  :  I  am  in  receipt  of  yours  of  the  1st,  in  answer 
to  which  I  find  myself  under  the  necessity  of  saying  '  no '  to 
your  request  that  I  would  give  one  of  the  nights  of  my  short 


156  CHARLOTTE  CUSHMAN : 

engagement  in  Washington  for  the  benefit  of  your  local  char- 
ities.    My  reasons  for  this  decision  are  as  follows  :  — 

"I  think  the  time  has  come  in  which  some  one  should 
make  a  protest  against  the  s^'^stem  now  so  fully  inaugurated 
of  making  artists  pay  so  much  more  than  the  rest  of  the 
community  for  charities  in  which  they  are  not  especially  in- 
terested, and  which  have  no  claim  upon  them.  You  simply 
ask  of  me  that  I  should  give  from  four  hundred  to  five  hundred 
dollars  to  your  poor,  while  those  more  immediately  concerned, 
those  who  are  bound  by  all  the  ties  of  neighborhood  and  com- 
mon brotherhood,  think  they  are  doing  their  part  in  paying 
their  quota  of  a  dollar  or  two,  when  they  receive  in  return 
a  full  equivalent  out  of  the  labor,  severe  enough,  of  the  often 
hard-pressed  and  struggling  artist.  Each  one  of  these  already 
does  to  the  best  of  his  or  her  ability,  within  the  range  of  the 
claims  which  fall  upon  every  human  creature  alike.  You 
may  think  it  indelicate,  but  it  is  surely  not  irrelevant,  for  me 
to  say  here,  that  I  give  every  year  to  my  poor  and  needy, 
and  to  my  poor's  poor  and  needy,  upward  of  $2,000,  which 
I  consider  a  very  fair  percentage  upon  my  income.  As  for 
myself,  it  would  take  every  day  of  every  year  if  I  were  to 
respond  to  one  half  the  applications  of  this  kind  that  meet 
me  at  every  turn ;  and  each  one  of  us  who  are  so  freely  called 
upon  in  these  ways  I  have  no  doubt  have  not  only  their 
regular  clientele  of  claimants,  to  whom  they  are  bound  and 
for  whom  they  are  accountable,  but  also  hosts  of  such  applica- 
tions and  claims  for  which  they  are  in  no  way  bound. 

"  It  strikes  me  that  the  whole  affair  is  one-sided,  and  that 
a  word  is  necessary  in  the  way  of  justice.  I  am  willing  to 
place  myself  in  this  breach,  and  say  for  all  my  confreres  in 
art,  whose  errors  have  never  been  on  the  side  of  niggardliness, 
that  it  is  unfair  we  should  do  all  the  work  and  pay  also,  both 
publicly  and  privately,  as  we  do  to  my  certain  knowledge. 

"  Allow  me  to  suggest  that,  in  place  of  this  easy  manner  of 
doing  good,  a  house-to-house  visitation  for  charitable  objects 
would  place  it  in  the  power  of  every  citizen  to  help  the  poor 


HER  LIFE,  LETTERS,  AND  MEMORIES.  157 

of  his  own  city  and  neighborhood  with  much  greater  comfort 
to  his  conscience  than  this  cent-per-cent  contract  of  so  much 
money  for  so  much  amusement,  and  the  poor  thrown  in. 
*'  Believe  me  to  be,  with  much  consideration, 

"  Kespectfully  yours, 

"  Charlotte  Cushman." 

The  following  letter  is  inserted,  as  not  only  suggestively 
valuable  in  itself,  but  as  an  explanation  due  to  her  mem- 
ory. It  was  written  at  her  request,  and  is  headed,  "  Auto- 
graph Hunting." 

*'  For  the  Public  Ledger,  Philadelphia. 

"  Mr.  Editor  :  Just  before  she  left  New  York,  Miss  Cush- 
man made  an  arrangement  with  the  treasurer  of  the  *  Shelter- 
ing Arms'  to  supply  her  autograph  for  the  benefit  of  that 
institution,  thinking  naturally  enough  that  those  persons  who 
wanted  her  name  would  not  be  unwilling  to  pay  a  trifling  sum 
for  this  gratification,  at  the  same  time  doing  good  to  a  strug- 
gling and  very  deserving  charity. 

"  This  simple,  and  as  it  would  appear  not  unworthy,  action 
on  her  part  seems  to  have  given  occasion  of  offence  to  certain 
newspapers,  and  some  very  ill-natured  comments  upon  it  have 
appeared,  attributing  to  her  base  and  mean  motives,  and  oth- 
erwise casting  slurs  upon  an  act  of  the  purest  benevolence. 
You  will  confer  a  favor  if  you  will  find  space  in  your  columns 
for  this  notice,  thus  giving  publicity  regarding  what  has 
grown  into  a  very  great  abuse,  namely,  *  autograph  hunting.' 
Miss  Cushman  has  been  for  years  pursued  by  it  to  such  an 
extent  that,  at  length,  in  self-defence,  she  has  devised  the 
above  plan,  which  she  heartily  recommends  to  her  professional 
brethren,  artists,  and  other  eminent  persons,  who  must  all 
have  suffered  with  her  the  same  annoyance. 

"  It  may  be  said  that  simply  writing  one's  name  cannot 
demand  veiy  great  exertion,  and  it  is  a  little  thing  to  do  to 
give  pleasure,  etc.  j  but  when  it  amounts  to,  on  an  average, 


158  CHARLOTTE  CUSHMAN  : 

about  forty  or  fifty  demands  of  the  kind  per  week,  and  often 
more  when  she  is  acting  or  reading  in  any  of  the  large  cities,  — 
it  being  a  thing  that  no  one  can  do  for  her,  —  it  is  no  small  tax ; 
and  she  felt  at  last  that  she  had  done  as  much  of  it  as  she  was 
called  upon  to  do,  especially  as  the  perpetual  repetition  of  it 
could  not  but  deprive  even  her  honored  name  of  all  value. 
For  the  benefit  of  such  persons  as  might  choose  to  follow  her 
example  in  this,  I  am  requested  to  furnish  the  following  par- 
ticulars :  — 

"The  society  of  the  'Sheltering  Arms'  is  authorized  to 
dispose  of  her  autograph  for  the  sum  of  twenty-five  cents, 
which  sum  goes  to  the  benefit  of  that  institution.  Upon  re- 
ceipt of  a  request  for  an  autograph,  enclosing  the  money,  it  is 
sent,  and  there  an  end.  No,  not  there  an  end  ;  the  end  no  one 
knows ;  but  the  promise  that  even  a  cup  of  cold  water  to  one 
of  these  little  ones  shall  meet  with  an  exceeding  great  return, 
ought  to  make  an  autograph  so  obtained  doubly  and  trebly 
valuable. 

"  Justice." 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

"  To  that  dauntless  temper  of  his  mind 
He  has  a  wisdom  that  doth  guide  his  valor." 

Measure,  for  Measure* 

]X  the  4th  of  April  of  the  year  1859  came  the  first 
tidings  of  her  sister's  iUness  ;  the  news  alternat- 
ing for  better  or  worse  until  the  24th,  when  a 
telegram  summoned  her  to  England.  After  a  hurried  jour- 
ney to  Paris,  unfavorable  accounts  met  her,  and  she  has- 
tened to  Liverpool  to  watch  over  and  meet  the  sadness  of 
these  last  days.  Mrs.  Muspratt  died  on  the  10  th  of  May. 
This  was  a  heavy  blow  to  her,  whose  family  affections 
were  so  intense  and  clinging ;  she  suffered  much  from  it, 
and  it  was  thought  well  to  seek  change  and  distraction 
in  constant  movement.  On  this  occasion  she  explored 
Wales,  and  visited  all  the  finest  points  of  that  picturesque 
and  lovely  country,  travelling  by  carriage,  and  moving  or 
resting  as  inclination  prompted.  Thus,  slowly  but  surely, 
healing  and  consolation  came  through  the  blessed  in- 
fluences of  nature.  She  was  never  inclined  to  hold  de- 
spondency to  her  heart ;  she  suffered  keenly  and  acutely, 
but  her  nature  opened  simply  and  naturally,  like  a 
flower,  to  the  free  air  and  sunshine.  She  could  not  but 
take  a  living  interest  in  life,  in  nature,  in  people  ;  she  met 
and  sought  always  occasion  to  help  others,  and  in  this 
giving  out  of  herself  she  reaped  always  a  larger  harvest 
than   she  had  sown.     The  summer  passed  calmly  and 


160  CHAELOTTE  CUSHMAN  : 

sweetly  away.  After  Wales  came  a  visit  to  old  and  dear 
friends  at  Brighton,  and  renewed  intercourse  with  the 
much-loved  London  circle,  where  she  again  saw  Mrs.  Car- 
lyle,  and  they  cemented  a  warm  friendship.  All  this 
helped  to  complete  her  cure,  as  far  as  such  wounds  ever 
can  be  cured.  On  September  11  she  left  again  for  Eome, 
travelling  by  way  of  Paris,  Aix,  Cologne  and  Bonn,  and 
arriving  October  16. 

The  winter  of  1859-60  passed  as  usual,  but  with  less 
of  social  excitement.  Among  the  "  Eoman  Pilgrims  "  this 
year  were  the  Brownings  and  Theodore  Parker ;  the  lat- 
ter, too  much  of  an  invalid  to  enter  into  general  society, 
was  ministered  to  by  Miss  Cushman  in  her  wonted  kindly 
manner.  There  are  some  characteristic  little  notes  of  his 
among  her  papers,  one  or  two  of  which  I  may  give,  as 
showing  how  she  tried  to  make  the  Pilgrims  forget  for  a 
time  they  were  strangers  in  a  strange  land. 

"  My  dear  Miss  Cushman  :  Many  thanks  for  all  your 
favors,  —  the  drive  the  other  day,  the  old-fashioned  chicken- 
pie  this  day.  Alas  !  I  have  no  coach,  no  oven ;  but  as  you 
have  often  taken  a  kindly  interest  in  me,  I  think  you  may  like 
to  read  some  of  my  latest  pubhcations,  so  I  send  a  couple  of 
little  things  which  came  by  mail,  and  are  the  only  copies  in 

^  *  "  Believe  me  faithfully  yours, 

"  Theodore  Parker. 
"  P.  S.  I  have  finished  '  Plutarch.' » 

Another  note  says  :  — 

"I  thank  you  heartily  for  the  great  loaf  of  Indian-corn 
bread.  It  is  like  the  song  of  Zion  sung  in  a  strange  land 
and  among  the  willows.  It  carries  me  back  to  dear  old  Bos- 
ton once  more.  We  shall  eat  this  our  bread  with  thankfulness 
of  heart,  not  forgetting  the  human  giver. 

*' Yours  for  the  bread,  «T  P 

"  P.  S.     I  suppose  I  am  as  well  as  could  he  expected." 


# 


HER  LIFE,  LETTERS,  AND  MEMORIES.  161 

Miss  Cusliman  sat  to  me  in  the  course  of  this  winter 
for  her  bust,  at  the  request  of  her  early  friend,  Mr.  E.  D. 
Shepherd,  the  same  who  is  mentioned  in  her  memoranda 
as  having  given  her  two  years  of  good  musical  training, 
and  thus  laid  the  foundation,  as  she  believed,  of  all  her 
after  success.  During  her  last  visit  to  New  Orleans  in 
1858  Mr.  Shepherd  sought  her  out.  It  was  pleasant  for 
both  to  meet  under  such  changed  conditions;  the  one 
to  find  the  fruition  of  his  good  deed,  the  other  to  feel 
the  satisfaction  of  her  nobly  won  position  and  pros- 
pects. Mr.  Shepherd  on  that  occasion  asked  her  to  have 
her  bust  modelled  for  him,  and  left  the  choice  of  an  art- 
ist to  herself  She  determined  that  I  should  do  it,  and 
a  good  portion  of  the  winter  was  devoted  to  this  work, 
which,  thanks  to  her  good-will  and  sympathetic  encour- 
agement, became  a  successful  one.  The  original,  after  the 
death  of  Mr.  Shepherd,  was  presented  by  his  daughter, 
Mrs.  Gorham  Brooks,  to  the  Handel  and  Haydn  Society 
of  Boston.  Several  copies  were  made  :  one  is  in  the  pos- 
session of  Mr.  H.  G.  Stebbins  of  ISTew  York ;  another 
belongs  to  Mr.  F.  Sully  Darley  of  Philadelphia ;  and  a 
third  to  Mr.  James  Muspratt  of  Seaforth  Hall,  Liver- 
pool. 

On  June  9  of  this  year  Miss  Cushman  again  sailed 
for  New  York,  in  the  steamship  Persia,  passing  the  sum- 
mer among  her  friends,  and  devoting  the  winter  to  her 
profession.  On  March  21st  she  acted  for  the  benefit  of 
the  Dramatic  Fund  at  the  Academy  of  Music.  The  play 
was  "Macbeth,"  with  Mr.  Edwin  Booth  as  Macbeth. 
This  was  a  very  successful  performance,  the  receipts 
amounting  to  $3,100,  being  $1,000  in  excess  of  the 
amount  received  from  any  previous  benefits. 

On  the  24th  of  March  Miss  Cushman  went  to  St.  Louis 
to  attend  the  marriage  of  her  nephew  and  adopted  son, 


162  CHAELOTTE  CUSHMAN  : 

Mr.  Edwin  C.  Cushman,  to  Miss  Crow,  daughter  of  Way- 
man  Crow,  of  St.  Louis.  From  April  8th  she  acted  a  round 
of  engagements  in  all  the  chief  cities,  and  on  July  1st  paid 
a  visit  to  Mr.  Seward  in  Washington,  on  which  occasion 
she  visited  with  him  the  entrenchments  on  Arlington 
Heights,  and  the  various  camps  then  in  process  of  forma- 
tion about  the  city.  Her  thoughts  and  feelings  on  the 
subject  of  the  civil  strife  which  was  then  beginning  to 
convulse  the  country  will  be  found  in  her  letters  of  this 
period.  It  pained  her  deeply  that  circumstances  forced 
her  to  absent  herself  from  home  at  a  time  so  full  of  deep 
and  absorbing  interest.  But  good  influences  and  ardent 
souls  were  as  much,  if  not  more,  needed  on  the  other  side 
than  here  at  that  time,  and  she  fulfilled  her  mission  in 
that  respect  as  thoroughly  and  well  as  in  any  other. 
During  those  grievous  years,  when  the  fate  of  the  country 
seemed  to  be  hanging  in  such  an  uneven  balance,  who  can 
tell  how  much  her  courage,  her  hope,  and  her  bright  and 
persistent  cheerfulness  may  not  have  aided  in  restoring  its 
equilibrium  ?  They  called  her  the  sunbeam  in  Eome  in 
those  days  of  gloom  and  despondency ;  and  many  after- 
wards confessed  to  having  walked  the  streets  in  the  hope 
of  encountering  her  and  getting  a  passing  word  of  comfort 
and  cheer.  Few  could  understand  or  feel  what  those 
depths  were  in  which  the  expatriated  ones  lived  during 
those  days  of  anxious  suspense  and  doubt.  It  almost 
seemed  as  if  they  suffered  more  than  those  who  bore  the 
burden  and  heat  of  the  day.  They  had  at  least  the  excite- 
ment of  effort  to  sustain  them  ;  but  these  were  called  upon 
to  face  gloomy  forebodings,  uncertain  tidings,  exaggerated 
reports,  and  popular  prejudices  so  strong  that  even  good 
tidings  could  scarce  make  their  way  against  them,  and 
always  came,  so  long  as  the  result  was  at  all  doubtful,  in 
a  garbled  and  adulterated  shape.     To  hope  was  difficult, 


HER  LIFE,  LETTERS,  AND  MEMORIES.  163 

to  administer  hope  to  others  more  difficult  still ;  but  this 
was  precisely  her  forte  and  her  mission  in  life,  and  she 
fulfilled  it  to  these  deep  needs  in  her  own  beneficent  way, 
not  only  in  Eome,  but  in  England,  never  failing  to  lighten 
the  darkest  hours  and  the  heaviest  despondency  with  some 
gleams  of  the  brightness  she  found  in  her  own  sanguine 
nature. 

On  the  17th  of  July,  1861,  she  returned  to  England. 
The  following  letter  of  August  8  expresses  her  feeling  on 
the  all-absorbing  topic  of  the  time :  — ^ 

"  The  news  brought  by  the  last  steamer  has  made  me  so 
sad  and  so  heartsick,  that  I  hardly  know  how  to  talk  or  write 
about  it,  further  than  this,  that  I  believe  in  God's  goodness, 
and  that  even  this  must  work  together  for  good.  The  recruit- 
ing will  go  on  better.  The  civihan  officers  will  have  got  a 
little  whipping,  and  the  South  a  flush  in  this  success  which 
will  make  them  a  little  less  careful  next  time.  Meanwhile, 
England  and  France  are  not  going  to  do  anything  about  the 
blockade,  and  are  getting  so  much  cotton  from  other  quarters 
which  they  did  not  expect,  that  in  less  than  two  years  they 
will  do  without  American  cotton ;  and  thus  slavery  and  cotton 
will  be  dethroned  in  that  hemisphere.  This  I  learn  from  a 
very  large  cotton  interest  here,  who  are  pro-slavery.  Again, 
so  much  rain  has  Mien,  that  even  now  they  are  prognosticat- 
ing short  crops.  Depend  upon  it,  there  will  be  no  interference 
with  America  on  the  part  of  England  or  France.  Though  the 
war  interferes  with  our  merchants  to-day,  it  will  be  better  for 
us  in  the  end,  for  the  country  has  got  to  learn  to  depend  on 
herself  and  develop  her  own  resources.  But  I  am  sorry  not 
to  be  at  home  to  see  the  matter  through.  God  help  the  weak 
and  prosper  the  right,  and  send  the  wrong-doer  the  punish- 
ment he  deserves.  I  do  think  the  South  comes  rightfully  by 
this  success  on  the  principle  that  the  Devil  helps  his  own  at 
first.  Let  those  laugh  who  win.  It  was  natural  that  all  this 
playing  at  soldiers  should  result  in  a  shameful  defeat ;  but 
we  shall  see  what  will  be  the  end." 


164  CHAKLOTTE   CUSHMAN : 

This  was  the  first  battle  of  Bull  Eun  of  which  she 
writes,  and  the  allusion  "  playing  at  soldiers  "  bears  refer- 
ence to  the  impression  made  upon  her  by  her  visit  to  the 
camps  around  Washington,  and  to  the  evidence  they  af- 
forded, even  to  her  inexperienced  eyes,  of  crudeness  and 
mismanagement. 

During  this  summer  she  made  various  excursions,  visit- 
ing Buxton,  Knowsley,  Haddon  Hall,  Chatsworth,  Mat- 
lock, Dovedale,  stopping  at  Izaak  Walton's  Inn,  and  finally 
settling  down  for  a  time  at  the  Isle  of  Wight,  from  which 
place  we  have  one  or  two  interesting  letters.  Eeferring 
to  a  visit  she  had  just  made  to  London,  where,  as  she  says, 
she  found  "  the  purest  spiritual  pleasure,"  she  gives  her 
impressions  of  the  Isle  of  Wight :  — 

"  Here,"  she  says,  "  is  the  sweetest  air  material  that  human 
being  ever  found.  0,  a  week  of  rare  dehght !  In  my  whole 
Enghsh  hfe  I  have  never  felt  seven  such  days  of  golden  glory 
as  we  passed  there.  We  were  at  a  gentleman  farmer's  in  the 
heart  of  the  island,  far  away  from  everything  and  everybody 
but  ourselves.  The  weather  was  divine,  —  not  warm,  not  cold, 
but  such  as  enabled  us  to  wander  in  the  copses  in  our  morning 
jackets,  or  sit  under  the  huge  old  pear-tree  on  the  lawn,  in 
front  of  the  dear  little  seven-gabled  house,  reading,  or  up  in 
an  upper  room  (fitted  up  as  a  writing-room)  doing  up  my  cor- 
respondence, with  the  sweet  sounds  of  birds,  and  sweet  smell 
of  wild  clematis  which  wanders  up  in  streaming  whiteness  over 
the  gabled  windows.  0,  it  was  a  rare  week  !  I  only  wanted 
you  to  see  how  well  I  was ;  how  good  and  clear  and  true  the 
country  makes  me,  when  I  can  throw  aside  the  carking  cares 
which  almost  invariably  surround  me  in  a  city  a?iy where." 

Another  letter  from  this  chosen  locality  is  full  of  pith 
and  matter.  The  "  clearness  and  trutb  "  which  she  feels 
in  the  midst  of  nature  possesses  her  spirit  and  moves  her 
pen.     She  writes  words  of  real  wisdom. 


HER  LIFE,  LETTERS,  AND  MEMORIES.  165 

"  I  only  wish  there  were  less  excitement  for  you  ;  you  lack 
repose,  and  never  will  be  strong  until  you  are  shut  up  in 
*  some  boundless  contiguity  of  shade,"  where  you  will  see  no 
soul  but  your  own,  and  sit  communing  with  it,  face  to  face, 
in  unlimited  silence.  When  you  begin  to  study  yourself, 
then  will  you  begin  to  have  repose.  When  you  shall  find 
that  calm  iuteriorlj,  you  will  be  happier  and  less  troubled 
that  you  cannot  '  long  together  hold  to  any  fixed  principle  of 
action.'  You  know  so  well  what  is  right,  that  I  do  not  fear 
these  backslidings.  Every  human  being  (more  or  less)  must 
have  such ;  the  more  generous  the  nature  the  more  likely  to 
have  them ;  but  to  know  them  and  to  try  to  cure  them,  to  see 
the  flutterings  of  the  conscience  and  try  to  help  it,  —  these  are 
the  footholds  by  which  (though  you  fall  back  many  and  many 
a  weary  time)  you  shall  mount  to  the  excellence  your  heart 
covets.  There  are  few  entirely  perfect  characters,  few  souls  so 
white  as  to  bear  full  sunshine.  The  wish  to  be  better,  the 
strong  desire  to  live  higher,  purer  lives,  the  determination  to 
be  worthy  in  spite  of  lets  and  hindrances,  the  small  conquest 
over  self  to-day,  shall  lead  to  the  larger  to-morrow,  until  we  get 
nearer  to  our  true  mosaic  of  life,  —  the  one  spot  which  we  have 
been  destined  to  fill  worthily,  highly,  perfectly,  without  flaw, 
if  we  would  follow  the  Creator's  law  for  us.  We  cannot  commit 
a  wrong  without  its  punishment  following  closely  at  the  heels ; 
we  cannot  break  a  law  of  eternal  justice,  however  ignorantly, 
but  throughout  the  entire  universe  will  there  be  a  jar  of  dis- 
cord which  will  so  trouble  the  divine  harmonies  that  in  the 
rebound  we  shall  find  each  man  his  own  hell !  The  sooner  we 
arrive  at  this  knowledge,  the  sooner  we  take  the  certainty  to 
our  souls,  the  sooner  do  our  lives  begin  to  assume  the  square 
allotted  to  us.  To  try  to  be  better  is  to  be  better ;  and  the 
consciousness  that  we  are  '  backsliding,'  if  our  souls  are  true, 
good,  worthy  souls,  will  help  us  to  hold  the  faster  the  next  time 
to  that  which  is  really  true  and  good.  God  knows  how  hard 
/  have  striven  in  my  time  to  be  good  and  true  and  worthy.  God 
knows  the  struggles  I  have  had.    God  knows  how  unworthily  I 


166  CHARLOTTE  CUSHMAN: 

have  kept  the  promises  I  have  made  to  myself  and  to  him. 
He  alone  knows  the  worth.  He  knows  the  trials.  He  is  the 
judge,  and  he  still  loves  me !  I  see  and  know  his  love  by 
the  blessings  which  surround  me  :  my  needs,  my  requirements, 
are  met ;  my  struggles  with  circumstances  have  been  many 
and  sore ;  my  life  has  known  its  weak  places,  but  I  strove  to 
come  out  of  them ;  I  have  come  out  of  them.  If  I  am  a 
coward,  I  am  compelled  to  find  my  safety  in  flight  sometimes  ; 
but  I  shall  be  less  a  coward  day  by  day  as  I  bring  myself  face 
to  face  with  my  soul,  and  God  will  help  me  to  see  better  as  I 
*  learn  to  labor  and  to  waiV  Ah,  what  profound  wisdom  is 
in  that  little  sentence  !  To  labor  is  to  love  God,  and  lead  ever 
higher  lives.  To  labor  is  easy  compared  to  waiting.  How 
hard  it  is  to  wait !  *  Patience  is  all  the  passion  of  great 
hearts.' " 

The  above  letters  bear  date  August  30  and  September 
7.  On  the  12th,  Miss  Cushman  left  London  for  Paris,  en 
route  to  Eome ;  on  the  21st  I  find  a  graphic  description 
of  a  visit  to  Kosa  Bonheur's  studio,  which  had  been  ar- 
ranged for  her  by  a  mutual  friend  in  London  :  — 

"  Did  I  tell  you  that  I  was  to  go  to  Rosa  Bonheur's  on  the 
Saturday,  or  had  I  been  the  day  I  wrote  1  If  not,  you  will 
want  to  know  about  her.  On  Friday  I  received  a  letter  from 
London,  telling  me  that  Mademoiselle  Rosa  would  be  ready  to 
receive  me  the  next  day,  if  I  would  take  the  earliest  train  to 
Fontainebleau.  Consequently  at  10.40  behold  me  starting  from 
the  hotel  on  my  way  to  the  chemin  defer :  an  hour  from  the 
hotel  to  the  station,  an  hour  and  a  half  on  the  rail,  and  we 
arrived  at  Thomery,  where  we  found  Mademoiselle  Rosa's  own 
little  sociable  (head  off")  waiting  for  us,  and  we  were  driven  by 
a  country-boy,  like  mad,  through  a  beautiful  portion  of  the 
forest ;  arriving  at  a  fine  old  country-house,  or  chateau,  which 
she  has  bought,  and  added  a  very  fine  building  and  tower  to  it, 
in  which  there  is  the  most  delightful  studio  you  ever  saw  in 
your  life.     She  designed  it  all.     Under  it  she  has  the  stables 


HER  LIFE,  LETTERS,  AND  MEMORIES.  167 

of  her  animals,  —  ponies,  cows,  sheep,  horses,  oxen,  Scotch 
cattle,  in  fact  everything  she  can  ever  want.  On  arriving 
we  mounted  the  stairs  to  the  studio,  and  she  received  us  at 
the  top  of  them,  dressed  in  a  pique  dress  of  white  cross-barred 
with  lavender.  The  dress,  I  am  sure,  was  a  knickerbocker  suit 
of  this  stuff,  over  which  she  had  evidently  put  a  skirt  (very 
short)  of  the  same  for  propriety's  sake,  for  she  did  not  seem 
to  be  over-comfortable  in  it.  She  received  us  more  graciously 
than  I  can  describe  to  you.  The  face  is  lovely,  refined,  not 
French^  and  full  of  intense  feeling;  bright,  clear,  truthful 
eyes,  an  exquisitely  cut  nose,  thin  but  mobile  lips,  beautiful 
teeth,  little  hands,  but  with  a  true  grip ;  altogether  the  most 
charming  great  woman  I  ever  saw.  She  and  Mademoiselle 
Micas,  her  friend,  entertained  us  most  agreeably ;  we  saw 
pictures,  sketches,  drawings,  proofs,  everything.  Her  manner 
of  showing  one  of  the  sketches  was  characteristic.  It  was  her 
latest  production,  and  drawn  on  several  pieces  of  paper.  It 
represented  a  flock  of  sheep  huddled  together  in  the  moon- 
light, with  firelight  shining  from  door  and  window  of  the 
shepherd's  hut.  She  coolly  placed  the  different  sections  of 
this  study  on  the  floor,  stepping  over  and  around  them  while 
arranging  them  to  her  satisfaction  with  her  foot.  Then  she  in- 
vited us  to  lunch,  and  there  was  brought  up  in  the  most  simple 
style  possible  a  dish  of  fruit,  with  wine,  which  was  placed  upon 
a  tall  studio  stool;  around  it  we  sat  and  munched  grapes  (her 
own  grapes)  and  pears,  and  talked  art,  philosophy,  and  mutual 
admiration  for  an  hour.  When  we  rose  to  depart  she  begged 
us  to  stay  to  dinner ;  but  we  wisely  saw  that  we  had  made  a 
good  impression,  and  came  away.  She  drove  us  to  the  station 
in  a  sort  of  cabriolet,  with  seats  running  along  the  sides,  and 
drawn  by  one  of  those  wonderful  horses  which  she  paints  so 
well,  solid  and  massive,  with  a  deep  groove  all  down  his  back. 
On  the  way  she  begged  us  to  have  our  photographs  taken  by 
her  own  particular  man /or  her,  gave  us  roses, — 0,  such  roses  ! 
—  and  graciously  waited  outside  the  enclosure  until  our  train 
started.     The  last  glimpse  we  had  of  her  she  was  holding  her 


168  CHARLOTTE  CUSHMAN : 

hat  aloft  in  salutation,  like  a  gallant  little  man.  The  studio 
she  has  built  is  perfectly  splendid  :  oak  panelling  all  over,  oak 
floor,  beautiful  carved  furniture,  a  fireplace  large  enough  for 
six  people  to  sit  inside,  the  sides  of  it  supported  by  two  enor- 
mous bloodhounds  modelled  by  herself  and  cut  in  cacu-stone. 
The  floor  is  covered  everywhere  with  skins  of  wild  animals. 
0,  what  a  weak  and  poor  description  of  a  most  charming 
day ! " 

These  flying  visits  to  Paris,  each  spring  and  autumn,  on 
her  way  to  and  from  Eome,  gave  Miss  Cushman  a  wel- 
come opportunity  of  seeing  whatever  of  new  and  interest- 
ing the  theatres  presented.  Her  enjoyment  of  the  French 
stage  was  intense  and  appreciative,  and  she  rarely  passed 
through  Paris  without  finding  at  some  one  of  the  numer- 
ous theatres  a  veritable  sensation.  They  were  never 
wanting  in  novelty ;  her  love  of  her  profession  made  her 
catholic  in  her  taste  and  judgment ;  she  went  everywhere 
and  enjoyed  all.  At  the  Theatre  Pran^aise  was  always  to 
be  found  the  classical  and  legitimate  drama.  Miss  Cush- 
man enjoyed  the  subtleties  and  even  the  mannerisms  of 
this  famous  stage ;  with  her  usual  zest,  she  relished  its 
finish  and  its  thoroughness,  for  thoroughness  was  one  of 
her  own  special  attributes;  but  she  thought,  as  she  re- 
turned to  it,  year  after  year,  that  the  finish  was  becoming 
conventional  and  the  thoroughness  affected ;  the  natural- 
ness was  so  labored  as  to  reach  the  opposite  extreme ;  the 
simplicity  so  simple  as  to  approach  absurdity;  every 
movement,  every  situation,  so  studied,  the  artificiality  so 
marked  and  apparent,  that  at  first  it  was  like  coming  into 
another  atmosphere  and  breathing  a  different  air.  After 
a  while  this  peculiar  impression  wore  off;  one  became  ac- 
customed to  the  condensed  air,  and  it  was  evident  that  on 
those  who  lived  with  it  and  in  it,  night  after  night,  it  pro- 
duced no  such  effect ;  but  to  eyes  and  senses  accustomed 


HER  LIFE,  LETTERS,  ANP  MEMORIES.  169 

to  the  natural  and  spontaneous  acting  of  tlie  Italian  school 
it  was  very  striking,  and  far  from  true  or  real. 

At  the  minor  theatres  —  less  hampered  by  prestige  and 
precedent,  less  classical,  but  more  true  to  nature  and  fact 
—  she  found  infinite  satisfaction.  There  the  inborn  French 
necessity  for  completeness  and  vraisemblance  found  its  ex- 
pression less  in  subtleties  of  manner  than  in  exactness  of 
mise-en-scene,  in  perfection  of  dress,  scenery,  and  accesso- 
ries, making  of  the  historical  dramas  produced  at  these 
theatres  a  succession  of  the  most  wonderful  and  faithful 
pictures. 

Among  many  such  attractive  entertainments  my  mem- 
ory recalls  one  in  especial.  I  think  it  was  at  the  Theatre 
Porte  St.  Martin,  or  it  might  be  the  Gymnase.  We  saw 
a  petite  drame,  of  three  acts,  called  Les  beaux  Messieurs 
du  Bois  Dove,  adapted  from  the  novel  of  that  name  by 
Madame  George  Sand  herself,  and  acted  in  by  two  of  the 
greatest  favorites  of  the  time,  namely,  Bocage  and  Jane 
EUsler.  It  was  a  consummate  little  jewel,  exquisitely  put 
upon  the  stage,  exquisitely  acted,  and  complete,  with  an 
artistic  perfection  without  flaw.  This  little  reminiscence 
may  fitly  introduce  here  a  letter  in  which  she  speaks  of 
George  Sand  and  of  her  feeling  towards  her. 

"  I  hke  you  to  find  in  George  Sand  principles.  She  is,  in 
truth,  the  most  wonderful  preacher,  and  if  she  had  been  an 
American  or  an  Englishwoman  with  that  intellect,  her  posi- 
tion would  have  been  up  to  her  principles.  But  I  do  not  feel 
that  we  have  any  right  to  judge  the  life  of  a  foreigner  by  our 
own  fixed  laws  of  society.  My  one  sole  reason  for  not  know- 
ing or  seeking  to  know  her  has  been  my  reverence.  I  cannot 
speak  French ;  I  cannot  make  myself  sufficiently  understood 
to  intrude  upon  the  life  and  time  of  a  great  woman  like  Ma- 
dame Dudevant,  and  I  do  not  find  they  understand  or  appre- 
ciate the  admiration  of  foreigners.     This  used  to  be  my  feel- 


170  CHARLOTTE  CUSHMAN : 

ing  even  with  Mrs.  Browning.  I  never  felt  that  I  could  bring 
anything  worthy  to  exchange  with  her,  and  I  became  con- 
scious, which  spoiled  my  ability  and  her  appreciation  of  me. 
Unless  I  can  utterly  forget  myself,  I  am  as  nothing ;  and  this 
is  why  you  care  for  me,  why  my  own  friends  love  me  and 
judge  me  kindly  ;  because,  when  I  can  talk  freely  upon  the 
subjects  which  interest  and  occupy  me,  without  a  thought  of 
myself  or  the  impression  I  am  making,  all  is  well  enough,  and 
my  life,  my  character  through  my  life,  makes  itself  felt.  To 
George  Sand  I  should  bring  nothing  but  my  reverence  and 
my  admiration.  She  would  produce  in  me  the  same  feeling 
and  the  same  silence  she  did  in  Mrs.  Browning.  Therefore  I 
have  hesitated  to  know  her.  But  one  of  these  days  we  will 
go  together  to  see  her  and  thank  her  for  all  that  she  has  been 
to  both  of  us ;  for  to  me  she  revealed  my  religion,  and  she  has 
ever  been  able  to  produce  nothing  but  good  in  me." 

Among  the  letters  of  this  period  I  find  many  expres- 
sions of  Miss  Cushman's  passionate  love  for  children, 
without  some  allusion  to  which  this  memoir  would  be 
very  incomplete.  It  was  one  of  the  most  marked  traits 
in  her  character.  She  was  in  sympathy  with  children, 
and  could  be  a  child  with  them.  They  loved  her  and 
gave  her  their  confidence,  and  she  was  never  so  occupied 
that  she  could  not  give  time  and  strength  to  them.  Her 
nephew's  children  were  to  her  like  her  own.  She  called 
herself  their  "  big  mamma,"  and  she  would  travel  any  dis- 
tance to  be  present  at  their  birth,  even  on  one  occasion 
crossing  the  ocean  for  that  purpose.  It  was  her  great  joy 
to  be  the  first  to  receive  them  in  her  arms,  and  she  had  a 
feeling  that  this  ceremony  made  them  more  her  own. 

Her  first  visitors  in  the  morning  were  always  the  little 
children,  and  she  had  smiles  and  songs  and  merry  games 
for  them,  even  when  at  times  her  sufferings  confined  her 
to  her  bed.     No  amount  of  trouble  was  too  great  to  give 


HER  LIFE,  LETTERS,  AND  MEMORIES.  171 

them  pleasure ;  their  birthdays  were  all  carefully  remem- 
bered, and  marked  with  gifts  and  tokens  of  never-failing 
kindness.  Her  own  birthday  fete  was  an  occasion  of 
great  ceremony,  and  always  made  much  of  for  the  sake 
of  the  children  ;  and  the  little  people  would  be  very  busy, 
long  beforehand,  preparing  their  tokens  of  love  for  dear 
"  big  mamma."  Always  something  done  with  their  own 
hands  gave  her  most  pleasure,  and,  whatever  it  was,  would 
be  received  with  acclamations.  This  was  one  of  her  many 
special  charms,  —  the  hearty  and  kindly  reception  of  what- 
ever was  done  to  give  her  pleasure.  The  motive  and 
meaning  was  everything,  the  mere  value  nothing;  and 
it  is  most  interesting  to  find,  among  the  gatherings  of  her 
busy  life,  these  simple  tokens,  carefully  cherished,  of  the 
friendships,  affections,  and  devoted  appreciations  which 
blessed  and  glorified  her  life. 

That  her  thoughts  were  also  full  of  deep  solicitude  for 
the  future  welfare  and  proper  training  of  these  children, 
her  letters  bear  ample  evidence.  The  maternal  and  pro- 
tecting element  which  was  so  large  in  her  "  found  ample 
room  and  verge  enough,"  in  her  loving  care  for  these  chil- 
dren, and  not  only  for  them,  but  wherever  she  could  ex- 
tend her  beneficent  and  helping  hand.  There  was  a  sense 
of  protection  in  her  atmosphere  which  all  felt,  hardly 
knowing  why  they  felt  it ;  but  drawing  them  to  it,  with 
the  sure  instinct  of  trust.  What  marvel,  then,  that  the 
little  children  clung  to  her  and  loved  her!  To  these 
children  she  has  left  an  inheritance  which  cannot  be 
taken  away  from  them.  The  means  which  it  was  her 
pleasure  to  gather  together  for  them  may  take  wings  and 
vanish  away ;  but  the  good  name,  the  honorable  record, 
no  one  can  take  from  them,  and  they  have  in  it  a  high 
shining  beacon  to  light  their  steps  upward  and  onward 
in  the  path  she  so  earnestly  desired  they  might  tread. 


172  CHAKLOTTE  CUSHMAN : 

How  mucli  ste  thought  of  the  sacredness  of  the  mater- 
nal trust  is  expressed  with  all  her  own  fervor  in  the  fol- 
lowing letter :  — 

"  All  that  you  say  about  your  finding  your  own  best  expres- 
sion in  and  through  the  httle  Hfe  which  is  confided  to  you  is 
good  and  true,  and  I  am  so  happy  to  see  how  you  feel  on  the 
subject.  I  think  a  mother  who  devotes  herself  to  her  child,  in 
watching  its  culture  and  keeping  it  from  baleful  influences,  is 
educating  and  cultivating  herself  at  the  same  time.  No  artist 
work  is  so  high,  so  noble,  so  grand,  so  enduring,  so  important 
for  all  time,  as  the  making  of  character  in  a  child.  You  have 
your  own  work  to  do,  the  largest  possible  expression.  No 
statue,  no  painting,  no  acting,  can  reach  it,  and  it  embodies 
each  and  all  the  arts.  Clay  of  God's  fashioning  is  given  into 
your  hands  to  mould  to  perfectness.  Is  this  not  something 
grand  to  think  of]  No  matter  about  yourself,  —  only  make 
yourself  worthy  of  God's  sacred  trust,  and  you  will  be  doing 
his  work,  —  and  that  is  all  that  human  beings  ought  to  care  to 
live  for.     Am  I  right  %  '* 

She  left  Eome  on  June  4th  of  this  year,  much  later 
than  usual,  but  finding  no  great  oppression  or  discomfort 
from  the  heat.  Much  misapprehension  with  regard  to  the 
Eoman  climate  exists  in  the  minds  of  many.  Long  ex- 
perience justifies  the  assertion  that  no  city  in  the  world 
is  more  generally  healthy  than  Eome.  Serious  cases  of 
illness  among  visitors  are  rare,  and  these  can  generally  be 
easily  traced  to  imprudence  and  thoughtlessness  under  new 
conditions.  Strangers  visiting  Eome  in  ignorance  or  care- 
lessness of  sanitary  laws  do  things  which  they  would  never 
have  dreamed  of  doing  at  home :  keep  irregular  hours,  neg- 
lect their  food,  exhaust  themselves  with  sight-seeing,  pass 
from  cold  atmospheres  to  hot,  and  vice  versa,  without  pre- 
caution, remain  out  late  in  the  night-air,  and  then  are 
surprised  at  the   consequences  which  naturally   ensue. 


HEE  LIFE,  LETTERS,  AND  MEMOEIES.  173 

Italians  are  particularly  careful  in  these  respects.  They 
avoid  even  passing  from  the  sunny  to  the  shaded  side  of  the 
street,  and  they  warn  all  strangers  to  beware  of  the  chill 
which  comes  over  the  air  as  the  sun  sinks  below  the 
horizon.  This  chill  lasts  only  for  a  time ;  after  an  hour 
or  so  the  temperature  becomes  equalized  again,  and  the 
danger  ceases.  But  in  these  lovely  nights  of  Italy  —  the 
sun  sinking  in  a  blaze  of  glory,  the  mountains  and  plain 
opal  tinted  in  rose  and  pale  azure,  the  moon  rising  glori- 
ously and  flooding  all  things  with  a  light  only  known  in 
Italy  —  it  is  difficult  to  convince  any  one  that  danger  may 
lurk  under  all  this  beauty.  But,  taking  the  average,  very 
little  real  harm  comes  of  it.  Thirteen  years'  experience 
surely  justifies  some  confidence.  During  all  these  winters, 
in  a  large  family  of  children,  servants,  and  constant  visit- 
ors, no  case  of  serious  iUness  ever  occurred.  The  usual 
ailments  incident  to  humanity  in  all  places  visited  us, 
and  Miss  Cushman's  health  was  gradually  working  out 
the  hereditary  problem  of  transmitted  evil ;  but  there  was 
no  appearance  of  any  ailment  peculiar  to  the  soil :  on  the 
contrary,  uncommon  freedom  from  all  forms  of  ailment. 
Cases  of  fever  did  occur  among  our  friends  and  acquaint- 
ances ;  but  whatever  was  of  purely  Eoman  origin  took  no 
worse  form  than  that  so  well  known  among  ourselves  as 
chills  and  fever,  —  disagreeable  enough,  no  doubt,  but  not 
dangerous.  Where  the  type  ran  into  typhoid,  or  assumed 
the  malignant  character  called  pernizziosa,  it  could  always 
be  traced  back  to  ^N'aples,  where  it  belongs,  and  where 
there  are  elements  admitted  to  be  of  a  nature  capable 
of  developing  any  malarial  tendency.  People  going  ex- 
hausted from  Eome  to  Naples,  and  living  there  the  same 
life  of  unrest  and  excitement,  were  predisposed  to  imbibe 
any  floating  mischief;  and,  returning  to  Eome  with  the 
seeds  planted  and  ready  to  burst  forth,  Eome  took  all  the 
credit  of  the  result. 


174  CHARLOTTE  CUSHMAN  : 

Persons  may  go  to  Eome  and  live  as  well  and  as  safely 
as  elsewhere,  at  almost  any  season,  with  proper  care  and 
prudence.  Even  the  summer  heat  is  not  as  unendurable 
as  with  us,  because  it  is  more  steady  and  continuous. 
Many  families  who  cannot  leave  Eome  in  summer  remain 
year  after  year  with  entire  impunity.  Some  artists  remain 
from  choice,  and  say  they  enjoy  immensely  the  calm,  the 
rest,  the  opportunity  for  steady  work,  which  they  can 
never  get  in  the  gay  Eoman  winter.  The  early  autumn, 
when  the  regular  rainy  season  sets  in,  is  perhaps  the  least 
healthy  period  of  the  year ;  but  is  not  that  the  same 
everywhere  ?  Decaying  vegetation  saturated  with  moist- 
ure is  a  factor  for  harm  in  most  places. 

The  real  harm  which  lies  in  the  Eoman  climate  is  of  a 
different  sort.  A  long  residence  in  Eome  is  apt  to  tell 
upon  the  nerves :  the  blood  grows  thin,  the  general  tone 
is  lowered  and  this  is  the  meaning  of  the  phrase  clolce  far 
nientc.  The  climate  produces  the  necessity  for  this  "  sweet 
idleness,"  and  those  who  will  not  yield  to  it,  like  our 
country-people,  who  carry  their  own  nervous,  restless 
energies  with  them  wherever  they  go,  are  forced  at  last 
to  submit  to  the  genus  loci  by  impaired  nerves  and  ex- 
hausted vitality. 

These  few  words  may  be  of  use  to  many  who,  in  con- 
templating a  visit  to  Eome,  are  beset  with  fears  and 
doubts  on  these  subjects.  Let  them  be  set  at  rest.  Eome 
is  probably  the  best-drained,  the  best- watered  city  in  the 
civilized  world,  and  since  the  Italian  occupation  is  rapidly 
becoming  equally  well  built  and  comfortable. 

Miss  Cushman  speaks  of  Eome  and  the  Eoman  climate 
in  this  wise  :  — 

"  The  worst  feature  of  living  in  Rome  is  the  being  forced 
to  go  away  for  the  summer ;  and  next,  or  perhaps  first,  is  the 
constant  strain  upon  the  nerves,  through  the  social  changes 


HER  LIFE,  LETTERS,  AND  MEMORIES.  175 

of  each  year.  There  is  no  resident  English  or  American 
society  here,  and  every  season  brings  fresh  people  to  learn  to 
know,  and  takes  away  those  whom  you  have  learned  to  know 
and  to  like  ;  and  thus  every  year  is  a  breaking  of  fresh  ground. 
When  one  lives  in  Boston,  or  St.  Louis,  or  London,  you  have 
a  sort  of  social  foundation  to  which  you  belong,  and  upon 
which  you  every  year  build,  either  some  fantastic  summer- 
house  of  a  pretty,  gay,  enthusiastic  foreigner,  or  a  good  solid 
family  room  of  an  old  English  country  gentleman  and  lady, 
whom  you  meet  at  some  friend's  house,  and  who  thereby  come 
indorsed  to  you  with  substantial  security.  Here  you  are 
without  a  foundation,  but  your  own  house  and  home  and 
its  inmates,  and  every  year  you  are  a  prey  to  the  adventurer 
who  comes  to  speculate,  the  needy  annuitant  who  comes  to 
live  cheap,  or  the  ambitious  parents  who  come  to  marry  their 
daughters ;  the  callow  parson,  who  comes  to  find  a  wife  with 
a  little  money ;  the  small,  very  small  heiress,  who  comes  to 
fish  for  a  husband ;  the  ignorant  and  rich  American  jobber, 
who  comes  to  play  the  patron  to  art,  and  buy  bad  copies  and 
still  worse  originals ;  and  the  vulgar  and  pretentious  wives  and 
daughters  of  such,  who  fall  victims  to  hungry  Italians  in 
search  of  dances,  suppers,  and  champagne.  And  such  is  this 
Roman  mosaic,  which  is  made  up  winter  after  winter  in  the 
same  design,  only  differing  each  year  in  the  value  of  the  ma- 
terial out  of  which  it  is  made.  But  this  is  giving  you  only 
the  dark  side ;  it  has  its  bright  one,  and  I  would  rather  live  in 
Rome  than  anywhere  else  in  the  world  for  the  winter  months, 
although  I  contend  that  the  atmosphere  is  nervous  and  ener- 
vating, and  that  constitutions  living  here,  and  indulging  in 
all  the  social  enjoyments,  are  sooner  sapped  than  elsewhere. 
Still,  the  sunshine  is  so  bright,  the  cold  weather  lasts  such  a 
short  time,  the  skies  are  so  clear,  the  spring  so  early,  the 
ability  to  go  out  every  day  in  the  winter  at  some  hour  in  an 
open  carriage  so  pleasant ;  the  rides  are  so  enticing,  the 
country  so  beautiful  to  ride  over,  the  hills  so  lovely  to  look 
upon  under  almost  every  change  and  shade  of  weather,  the 


176  CHARLOTTE   CUSHMAN  : 

Mrs.  Grundies  so  scarce,  the  artist  society  (of  the  best)  so  nice, 
that  it  is  hard  to  choose  or  find  any  other  place  so  attractive." 

I  extract  from  a  letter  of  March  16,  1862,  Miss  Cush- 
man's  expressions  of  feeling  in  reference  to  the  Northern 
successes,  the  news  of  which  were  now  coming  over  the 
ocean. 

"  I  can  hardly  describe  to  you  the  effect  upon  us  of  the 
political  news.  It  only  shows  us  how  our  nerves  have  been 
strained  to  the  utmost,  how  faith  has  been  tested  to  the 
verge  of  infidelity  !  It  has  been  so  hard  amid  the  apparent 
successes  on  the  other  side,  the  defection,  the  weakness  of 
men  on  our  side,  the  willingness  of  even  the  best  to  take 
advantage  of  the  needs  of  the  government,  the  ridicule  of 
sympathizers  with  the  South  on  this  side,  the  abuse  of  the 
English  journals,  and  the  utter  impossibility  of  beating  into 
the  heads  of  individual  English  that  there  could  be  no  right 
in  the  seceding  party,  —  all  has  been  so  hard,  and  we  have 
fought  so  valiantly  for  our  faith,  have  so  tired  and  tried  our- 
selves in  talking  and  showing  our  belief,  that  when  the  news 
came  day  after  day  of  our  successes,  and  at  last  your  letter, 
I  could  not  read  the  account  aloud,  and  tears,  —  hot  but  re- 
freshing tears  of  joy  fell  copiously  upon  the  page.  0,  I  am 
too  thankful ;  and  I  am  too  anxious  to  come  home  !  Never  in 
my  life  have  I  felt  any  bondage  so  hard  as  this  which  would 
make  it  wrong  for  me  to  go  to  America  this  siimmer ;  my 
soul  aches  to  get  to  the  States,  to  see  all  those  who  have 
worked  out  this  noble,  grand  end !  For,  as  I  saw  the  end 
through  the  clouds  (for  which,  by  the  by,  I  was  ridiculed  by 
some,  who  wittily  remarked  that  I  might  see  farther  than 
most  people,  living  nearer  where  the  sun  rose,  or  words  to  that 
effect),  so  must  I  be  able  to  see  it  clearer  now.  But  I  have 
faith  that  all  things  which  are  done  upon  earnest  conviction  are 
and  will  he  for  the  best,  and  so  my  coming  abroad  was  right ; 
but  I  cannot  help  my  yearnings,  and  I  do  so  long  to  come  to 
America  this  summer.   I  never  cared  half  so  much  for  America 


HER  LIFE,  LETTERS,  AND   MEMORIES.  177 

before  ;  but  I  feel  that  now  I  love  it  dearly,  and  want  to  see 
it  and  to  live  in  it." 

On  her  journey  to  Eome  in  the  autumn  of  this  year 
Miss  Cushraan  stopped  for  a  day  at  Spezzia,  and  was 
entertained  by  Mrs.  Somerville,  who  was  living  there 
then.     Of  this  visit  she  speaks  in  one  of  her  letters. 

"  We  passed  the  day  at  Spezzia,  and  in  the  evening  went  to 
take  tea  with  that  most  learned  astronomer  and  kindest, 
most  genial  of  ladies,  Mrs.  Somerville,  who  now,  at  the  age  of 
eighty-two,  is  writing  a  book  upon  the  'forces.'  I  saw  her 
write  her  name  under  a  carte  de  visite  with  the  greatest  calm 
and  precision,  in  a  hand  without  tremor,  like  copperplate. 
Mary  Somerville  is  one  of  the  wonders  of  our  age,  and  I  am 
most  glad  to  have  seen  her." 

In  an  earlier  part  of  this  memoir  some  allusion  has  been 
made  to  Miss  Cushman's  opinions  on  religious  subjects,  to 
her  large  tolerance,  her  unaffected  piety,  and  her  respect 
for  all  sincere  conviction  under  whatever  form  or  creed 
she  found  it.  Among  her  letters  of  18G2,  I  find  one 
which  gives  her  own  views  on  the  subject  in  her  own 
words.      It  is  written  from  Eome. 

"  To-morrow  will  be  the  last  day  of  the  year !  I  am  glad 
when  a  winter  is  over,  though  sad  to  think  I  am  so  much  nearer 
to  the  end.  The  days  fly  by  so  rapidly  ;  the  Saturdays  when 
I  must  post  come  round  so  soon  !  I  stand  sometimes  appalled 
at  the  thought  of  how  my  life  is  flying  away,  and  how  soon  will 
come  the  end  to  all  of  this  probation,  and  of  how  little  I  have 
done  or  am  doing  to  deserve  all  the  blessings  by  which  I  am 
surrounded.  But  that  God  is  perfect,  and  that  my  love  for 
him  is  without  fear,  I  should  be  troubled  in  the  thought  that 
I  am  not  doing  all  I  should,  in  this  sphere,  to  make  myself 
worthy  of  happiness  in  the  next.  Do  you  quite  believe  in 
angels  with  feather  wings  and  flowing  draperies,  and  perfect 


178  CHARLOTTE  CUSHMAN : 

beauty,  and  a  heaven  in  the  clouds  1  —  or  do  you  believe  that 
man,  a  little  lower  than  the  angels,  animated  by  the  'heat 
spark,*  wears  out  his  physical  in  the  improvement  of  his 
moral,  and  that  this  '  heat  spark '  then  returns  to  the  origi- 
nal centre  of  all,  to  be  again  given  out,  through  its  own  puri- 
fication, helping  thus  to  leaven  the  whole  mass,  and  so  doing 
God's  work  1  —  or  what  do  you  believe  1  You  say  you  '  feel 
the  need  of  a  saviour ' !  Do  you  think  Christ  more  your  sav- 
iour, except  that  he  has  been  the  founder  of  a  creed,  which 
has  been  a  sign  and  symbol  for  so  many  who  needed  a  sign  and 
symbol  1  Do  you  believe  that  God  was  more  the  father  of 
Christ  than  he  is  of  you  1  Do  you  need  any  mediator  between 
you  and  your  Father  1  Can  the  Saviour  Christ  help  you  more 
than  the  Saviour  Conscience]  I  don't  believe  in  Atheism ;  so 
you  see  one  may  doubt  even  disbelief;  but  I  should  be  glad 
to  know  what  your  creed  is,  if  you  put  it  into  any  form. 
Creeds  invented  by  man  may  and  do  find  echoes,  as  we  find 
around  us  those  who  can  give  us  better  counsel  than  we  can 
find  for  ourselves  in  ordinary  matters  ;  how  much  more,  then, 
in  those  which  are  purely  spiritual.  But  creeds  are  creeds, 
after  all ;  and  whether  propounded  by  Jesus,  or  any  other  of 
woman  horn,  they  are  simply  scaffoldings  which  surround  the 
temple,  and  by  which  different  thinkers  mount  to  their  dis- 
tinct and  separate  entrances.  I  find  it  possible  to  go  to  any 
church  and  find  God !  A  good  and  earnest  man,  though  a 
self-elected  priest,  who  leads  a  pure  and  noble  life,  who  works 
for  the  good  of  others  rather  than  his  own  gratification,  who 
leads  me  to  think  higher  and  better  things,  is  my  saviour ; 
all  great,  good,  noble,  high  aspirations  save  me.  Vainglory 
in  myself  or  my  doings,  self-assertion,  pride,  are  often  but 
the  effects  of  education  ;  and  though  they  may  be  and  are  the 
clogs  of  flesh  around  me,  they  cannot  prevent  me  from  seeing 
God  any  and  every  where,  and  they  cannot  prevent  me  from 
being  saved,  if  I  will !  0,  this  question  is  so  difficult,  so  hard  ; 
and  yet,  if  we  can  prove  by  our  lives  that  we  love  God  in  our 
neighbor,  it  is  so  easy  !     We  are  asked  by  all  believers  to  love 


HER  LIFE,  LETTERS,  AND  MEMORIES.  179 

God,  and  this  is  all.  If  we  love,  we  cannot  wound  !  God  is 
perfect ;  we  cannot  hurt  him  as  we  do  one  another,  for  he  sees 
in,  and  around,  and  through,  and  the  motive  is  the  hurt.  I 
believe  that  some  of  the  purest  lives  are  among  those  whom 
we  call  Deists,  —  who  believe  in  God,  but  not  in  revealed  re- 
ligion. No  one  can  doubt  a  cause,  and  there  must  have  been 
a  first  cause,  and  whether  we  call  it  God,  or  nature,  or  laiv  of  the 
universe,  it  amounts  to  the  same  thing ;  and,  trust  me,  every 
human  being  believes  in  a  God.  For  me,  I  believe  in  all  things 
good  coming  from  God,  in  all  forms,  in  all  ways ;  my  faith  is 
firm  in  him  and  his  love.  I  believe  in  instincts  marvellously. 
I  doubt  any  power  to  take  from  me  the  love  of  God,  and  I 
would  guard  particularly  against  the  evil  effects  of  injudicious 
or  careless  education  for  myself  or  others.  Original  sin  is  the 
excess,  or  weakness,  or  folly,  of  parents,  which  entails  upon  us 
evils  which  we  have  to  combat,  and  struggle  harder  in  conse- 
quence of ;  hence  the  necessity  of  each  human  being  striving 
to  lead  a  pure  life,  a  life  of  unselfishness,  a  life  of  devotion 
to  —  well  —  doing  everything  a  human  being  can  do  for  the 
largest  good  of  all. 

"  A  devotion  which  drives  one  to  a  nunnery,  to  a  life  of 
self-seclusion,  of  prayer  actual,  and  nothing  else,  does  not  seem 
to  me  devotion  such  as  God  needs  and  wants ;  and  yet  it  may 
be  that  this  example  is  also  necessary  in  God's  world,  and  each 
man  or  woman  may  be  doing  his  work  !  But  I  must  not  write 
on  such  topics.  I  am  not  sufficiently  clear  in  my  expression 
to  help  anybody,  and  I  only  intended  at  first  to  reply  to  the 
last  sentence  of  your  letter,  in  which  you  spoke  of  'your  need 
of  a  Saviour,'  and  of  your  going  to  such  or  such  a  church. 
Well,  it  matters  very  little.  All  thinking  human  beings 
(women  especially)  have  to  pass  through  all  these  thinkings. 
The  only  thing  to  be  guarded  against  is  the  narrowing  influ- 
ence of  Mrs.  Grundy.  Think  in,  but  be  sure  also  to  think  out. 
Many  young  people  are  apt  to  jump  into  one  of  these  enclos- 
ures, and  then,  ^ov  fear,  are  afraid  to  jump  or  crawl  out,  —  not 
from  fear  of  God,  but  fear  of  the  humans  around  them  !  Don't 
suffer  yourself  to  be  narrowed  in  your  thinkings.     If  you  do, 


180  CHARLOTTE  CUSHMAN  : 

it  is  because  of  some  part  of  your  mind  not  having  been 
healthily  exercised,  and  thus  the  restraint  day  by  day  will 
cramp  you  more.  I  don't  like  too  much  this  pride  of  intel- 
lect, any  more  than  I  do  the  idea  of  any  and  every  man  being 
able  to  be  a  priest  simply  because  he  chooses  that  as  his  voca- 
tion. There  are  many  priests  who  never  see  churches,  as 
there  are  many  devils  within  the  fold !  Did  you  ever  read 
very  thinkingly  "  Spiridion "  (George  Sand)  1  She  was  in 
this  coil  when  she  wrote  it,  and,  being  greatly  imaginative,  of 
course  the  book  is  very  wide  of  the  mark  for  many ;  but  it  is 
possible  to  get  something  from  it  in  spite  of  its  mysticism. 

I  go  to  the  English  Church  here,  because  I  think  it  right  to 
go  somewhere,  and  I  cannot  understand  Italian  well  enough 
to  follow  their  preaching,  though  the  earnestness  and  intensity 
and  eloquence  of  the  priests  often  stirs  me  to  my  soul,  in  spite 
of  the  trammels  of  language.  Therefore  I  go  to  the  English 
Church,  and  I  observe  their  observances,  because  I  think  it  is 
unkind,  by  any  resistance  on  my  part  when  I  am  among  them, 
to  raise  doubts  or  questions  or  remarks  when  it  is  unnecessary 
and  productive  of  no  good  result.  But  their  scaffolding  is  no 
more  for  me,  and  does  not  influence  me  any  more,  than  that 
of  the  Catholic  or  the  Presbyterian.  God  saw  the  creatures 
he  created  ;  he  knew  their  capabilities  ;  he  will  judge  us  each 
by  our  light.  The  child  shut  away  from  light  is  not  answer- 
able for  its  blindness.  Education  is  the  influences  around  our 
childhood,  not  merely  books  and  school,  but  example,  and  w^e 
are  only  responsible  according  to  our  light.  But  we  must  not 
wilfully  shut  our  eyes  when  we  can  be  led  into  the  light,  which 
is  to  be  tempered  to  our  abilities  ;  only  don't  condemn  others 
because  they  do  not  see  as  we  do,  and  we  are  not  able  to  see 
with  their  eyes.  Every  human  being  who  goes  to  sleep  awakes 
believing  in  God,  whatever  he  may  call  it.  There  are  more 
good  Deists  in  the  world  than  show  themselves,  and  there  is 
more  pride  than  one  wishes  to  see  ;  but  education  is  to  blame, 
not  instinct,  and  so  we  have  to  go  so  far  back  to  find  the  origi- 
nal plague-spot,  that  one  is  apt  to  sit  down  by  the  wayside  in 
terror  at  the  journey !  " 


CHAPTER    IX. 

"  Tlie  heart  and  hand  both  open  and  both  free, 
For  what  he  has  he  gives,  what  thinks  he  shows.*' 

TtoUus  and  Cressida. 
"  He  hath  a  tear  for  pity, 
And  a  hand,  open  as  day,  for  melting  charity." 
Love's  Labor  Lost. 

N"  one  of  the  letters  of  this  period  (1861)  we  find 
the  following  reference  to  her  cardinal  point  of 
faith,  namely,  that  real  needs  are  sooner  or  later 
met :  — 

"  What  you  say  of  '  needs  being  met  *  is  curious.  From  my 
very  earliest  days  of  reasoning,  which  began  with  me  when  I 
began  to  suffer,  I  have  felt  that  thought  grow  and  expand  in 
my  soul  until  it  is  the  foundation  of  my  creed,  my  religion. 
Upon  that  my  faith,  which  nothing  could  shake,  is  built.  If 
I  have  not  at  some  time  or  other  said  this  to  you  (and  I  feel 
sure  I  have),  and  it  has  entered  your  mind  and  taken  root 
without  your  having  noted  the  day  and  the  hour,  so  that  it 
seems  to  you  a  natural  growth,  and  so  is  more  valuable  to  you 
(as  all  best  things  come  from  within),  I  wonder  much,  for  it 
seems  to  have  been  the  one  natural  thing  I  should  say  to  you 
to  justify  my  actions.  On  the  8th  of  February  I  wrote  a  long 
letter  to  Mrs.  Carlyle,  which  had  this  for  its  text :  '  There 
never  yet  came  a  real  need  to  a  nation  or  an  individual  which 
was  not  in  due  time  met.'  This  was  apropos  to  something 
flattering  she  had  said  about  *  mi/  coming  to  her  at  the  right 


182  CHARLOTTE  CUSHMAN : 

moment^  And  it  would  almost  seem  that  the  thought  uttered 
then  by  me  had  reached  and  passed  her,  and  gone  on  to  you 
for  you  to  send  it  back  to  me.  '  Bread  upon  the  waters,' 
with  *  Eucharistic  meanings.'  Believe  me,  it  is  the  truest  phi- 
losophy and  faith  to  live  by.  It  does  not  prevent  us  working 
for  ourselves  to  the  attainment  of  our  needs,  because  we  can- 
not know  what  we  can  do  with  or  without  until  we  have  tried. 
This  '  instinct  striving  because  its  nature  is  to  strive '  is  our 
surety  of  the  presence  of  God  in  our  souls,  ever  drawing 
towards  its  centre,  Himself,  in  the  completion  of  its  role, — if  I 
may  use  such  a  term,  —  and  only  the  weak  and  poor  sink  down 
by  the  way.  The  brave  and  rich  nature  strives  for  the  accom- 
plishment of  what  it  deems  its  needs,  and  thus  breaks  down 
barriers  for  the  light  of  faith  to  enter.  This  faith,  being  *  all 
that  we  truly  need^  we  shall  have.^  All  that  is  worth  having 
must  be  striven  for ;  in  the  strife  we  often  find  joys  by  the 
wayside  undreamed  of,  which  sometimes  put  away  the  fancied 
need,  and  one  blesses  God  for  the  better  wisdom  and  goodness, 
and  gains  a  sublimer  faith.  Are  you  able  to  understand  me, 
or  am  I  writing  in  a  wild  way  which  you  cannot  follow  %  One 
of  these  days  we  will  compare  notes  as  to  the  springing  and 
growth  of  this  idea  in  our  souls.  But,  believe  me,  it  is  a  good 
faith  to  live  and  die  by,  if  needs  must  be  to  die." 

One  more  extract  closes  the  correspondence  of  this 
year ;  it  has  reference  to  her  deep  disappointment  in  the 
loss  of  her  nephew's  first  child,  and  goes  back  into  the 
troubles  and  griefs  of  her  own  early  life. 

"  There  was  a  time,"  she  writes,  "  in  my  life  of  girlhood, 
when  I  thought  I  had  been  called  upon  to  bear  the  very 
hardest  thing  that  can  come  to  a  woman.  A  very  short  time 
served  to  show  me,  in  the  harder  battle  of  life  which  was 
before  me,  that  this  had  been  but  a  spring  storm,  which  was 
simply  to  help  me  to  a  clearer,  better,  richer,  and  more  pro- 
ductive summer.  If  I  had  been  spared  this  early  trial,  I 
should  never  have  been  so  earnest  and  faithful  in  my  art ; 


HER  LIFE,  LETTERS,  AND  MEMORIES.  183 

I  should  have  still  been  casting  about  for  the  *  counterpart,' 
and  not  given  my  entire  self  to  my  work,  wherein  and  alone 
I  have  reached  any  excellence  I  have  ever  attained,  and  through 
which  alone  I  have  received  my  reward.  God  helped  me  in 
my  art  isolation,  and  rewarded  me  for  recognizing  him  and 
helping  myself.  This  passed  on;  and  this  happened  at  a  period 
in  my  life  when  most  women  (or  children,  rather)  are  looking 
to  but  one  end  in  life,  —  an  end  no  doubt  wisest  and  best 
for  the  largest  number,  but  which  would  not  have  been  wisest 
and  best  for  my  work,  and  so  for  God's  work ;  for  I  know  he 
does  not  fail  to  set  me  his  work  to  do,  and  helps  me  to  do  it, 
and  helps  others  to  help  me.  (Do  you  see  this  tracing  back, 
and  then  forward,  to  an  eternity  of  good,  and  do  you  see  how 
better  and  better  one  can  become  in  recognizing  one's  self  as  a 
minister  of  the  Almighty  to  faithfully  carry  out  our  part  of 
his  great  plan  according  to  our  strength  and  ability?)  0, 
believe  we  cannot  live  one  moment  for  ourselves,  one  moment 
of  selfish  repining,  and  not  be  failing  him  at  that  moment, 
hiding  the  God-spark  in  us,  letting  the  flesh  conquer  the 
spirit,  the  evil  dominate  the  good. 

Then  after  this  first  spring  storm  and  hurricane  of  young 
disappointment  came  a  lull,  during  which  I  actively  pursued 
what  became  a  passion,  —  my  art.  Then  I  lost  my  younger 
brother,  upon  whom  I  had  begun  to  build  most  hopefully,  as 
I  had  reason.  He  was  by  far  the  cleverest  of  my  mother's 
children.  He  had  been  born  into  greater  poverty  than  the 
others;  he  received  his  young  impressions  through  a  difler- 
ent  atmosphere  ;  he  was  keener,  more  artistic,  more  impulsive, 
more  generous,  more  full  of  genius.  I  lost  him  by  a  cruel 
accident,  and  again  the  world  seemed  to  liquefy  beneath  my 
feet,  and  the  waters  went  over  my  soul.  It  became  necessary 
that  I  should  suffer  bodily  to  cure  my  heart-bleed.  I  placed 
myself  professionally  where  I  found  and  knew  all  my  mortifi- 
cations in  my  profession,  which  seemed  for  the  time  to  strew 
ashes  over  the  loss  of  my  child-brother  (for  he  was  my  child, 
and  loved  me  best  in  all  the  world),  thus  conquering  my  art, 


184  CHARLOTTE   CUSHMAN  : 

which,  God  knows,  has  never  failed  me,  —  never  failed  to 
bring  me  rich  reward,  —  never  failed  to  bring  me  comfort. 
I  conquered  my  grief  and  myself.  Labor  saved  me  then  and 
always,  and  so  I  proved  the  eternal  goodness  of  God.  I 
digress  too  much  ;  but  you  will  see  how,  in  looking  back  to  my 
own  early  disappointments,  I  can  recognize  all  the  good  which 
came  out  of  them,  and  can  ask  you  to  lay  away  all  repinings 
with  our  darling,  and  hope  (as  we  must)  in  God's  wisdom  and 
goodness,  and  ask  him  to  help  us  to  a  clearer  vision  and  truer 
knowledge  of  his  dealings  with  us;  to  teach  us  to  believe 
that  we  are  lifted  up  to  him  better  through  our  losses  than 
our  gains.  May  it  not  be  that  heaven  is  nearer,  the  passage 
from  earth  less  hard,  and  life  less  seductive  to  us,  in  conse- 
quence of  the  painless  passing  of  this  cherub  to  its  true  home, 
lent  us  but  for  a  moment,  to  show  how  pure  must  be  our  lives 
to  fit  us  for  such  companionship  1  And  thus,  although  in  one 
sense  it  would  be  well  for  us  to  put  away  the  sadness  of  this 
thought  if  it  would  be  likely  to  enervate  us,  in  another  sense, 
if  we  consider  it  rightly,  if  we  look  upon  it  worthily,  we  have 
an  angel  in  God's  house  to  help  us  to  higher  and  purer  think- 
ings, to  nobler  aspirations,  to  more  sublime  sacrifices  than  we 
have  ever  known  before." 

The  winter  of  1862-63  was  not  marked  by  any  special 
event.  The  Eoman  winters  passed  in  the  usual  routine 
of  social  life,  only  each  year  more  full  and  active  and 
busy.  The  circle  of  friendships  widened  and  broadened 
and  deepened.  Where  there  was  a  constant  giving  out 
of  good-will  and  kindness,  the  return  was  naturally  "  full 
measure,  filled  up,  pressed  down,  and  running  over  " ;  and 
the  effort  necessary  to  meet  this  drain  upon  her  strength 
and  energy,  great  as  these  were,  overtaxed  her  nerves  more 
than  she  was  aware  of  at  the  time,  though  those  nearest 
to  her  saw  it  and  felt  it,  and  often  remonstrated  against 
it  earnestly.  It  seemed,  therefore,  well  when  she  decided, 
toward  the  middle  of  the  winter,  to  make  another  journey 


HER  LIFE,  LETTERS,  AND  MEMORIES.  185 

to  America,  one  of  her  chief  reasons,  if  not  the  chief  one, 
being  her  desire  to  act  for  the  benefit  of  the  Sanitary 
Commission.  Her  heart  and  thoughts  were  with  the 
country  in  its  hour  of  trial,  and  as  with  her,  strength, 
will,  energy,  all  worked  with  the  impulse  of  the  heart 
in  straightforward  endeavor,  she  suffered  no  obstacle  to 
stand  between  her  and  her  determination  to  do  what- 
ever lay  in  her  own  special  power  to  aid  in  the  sacred 
cause. 

It  was  no  light  thing  to  do ;  there  were  many  lets  and 
hindrances  in  the  way,  —  the  feelings  and  the  needs  of 
many  to  be  consulted,  thousands  of  miles  to  be  traversed, 
and  much  labor  and  weariness  of  spirit  to  be  encountered. 
But  she  was  one  of  those  spirits  born  to  act,  and  not  to 
be  acted  upon ;  when  once  firmly  persuaded  that  a  cer- 
tain course  was  to  be  pursued,  she  never  looked  back, 
but  went  steadily,  persistently  on,  meeting  and  baffling 
obstacles,  and  conquering  success  by  going  bravely  forth 
to  meet  it. 

In  pursuance  of  this  object  she  sailed  for  America  on 
June  6th,  and  acted  for  the  Sanitary  Fund  on  the  12th 
of  September  at  Philadelphia,  on  the  25th  in  Boston,  and 
on  the  27th  of  October  in  New  York,  as  well  as  in  Wash- 
ington and  Baltimore.  Her  own  statement  of  the  result 
of  her  labors  is  contained  in  the  following  letter :  — 

"New  York,  October  31,  1863. 
"  Dear  Dr.  Bellows  :  I  have  at  last  received  the  accounts 
and  *  returns '  from  the  benefit  given  by  me  at  the  Academy 
of  Music,  New  York,  on  the  27th  instant.  I  have  pleasure 
in  enclosing  to  you  a  check  for  the  proceeds,  after  deducting 
expenses  for  printing,  advertisements,  etc.,  according  to  en- 
closed memoranda.  The  stockholders  of  the  Academy,  in  the 
most  generous  manner  returned  to  me  $150,  making  the  rent 
on  that  occasion  only  $100.     I  beg  to  refer  you  to  the  en- 


186  CHARLOTTE  CUSHMAN  : 

closed  note  from  Dr.  J.  F.  Gray,  accompanied  by  a  check  for 
$50.  A  little  more  courage  on  my  part  might  have  increased 
this  sum  considerably ;  but  I  am  very  thankful  to  the  public 
for  enabling  me  to  make  even  this  amount  of  offering  to  your 
noble  charity. 

"  Enclosed  please  find  acknowledgments  from  the  agents  of 
your  Commission  in  Philadelphia,  Boston,  and  Washington. 

"  I  take  the  liberty  of  recapitulating  these  sums  to  you,  the 
President  of  the  Commission,  that  I  may  recall  to  your  mind 
the  conversation  I  had  with  you  expressive  of  the  desire  that 
you  should  spare  a  portion  of  this  amount  to  the  Western 
Sanitary  Commission,  from  whose  agents  I  have  received  very 
touching  appeals.  My  engagements  in  the  East  have  pre- 
vented me  from  visiting  Chicago  and  St.  Louis,  as  I  fully  in- 
tended doing,  where  I  should  have  asked  from  their  individual 
populations  the  same  help  for  their  cause  which  the  Eastern 
cities  have  given  me  for  yours.  Will  you  let  my  inability  to 
go  there  plead  for  them  if  you  can  spare  anything  1  I  know 
no  distinction  of  North,  East,  South,  or  W^est ;  it  is  all  my 
country,  and  where  there  is  most  need,  there  do  I  wish  the 
proceeds  of  my  labor  to  be  given.  No  one  knows  so  well  as 
you  where  there  is  most  need ;  to  you,  therefore,  I  commit 
my  offering,  and  with  every  good  wish  for  your  success  in 

this  and  all  things, 

"  I  am  very  truly  yours, 

"Charlotte  Cushman." 

Dr.  Bellows  issued  in  return  the  following  card  :  — 

"New  York,  November  7, 1863. 
**  The  President  of  the  United  States  Sanitary  Commission 
feels  it  to  be  a  great  pleasure  to  call  universal  attention  to 
the  patriotic  munificence  of  our  distinguished  countrywoman. 
Miss  Charlotte  Cushman,  who,  from  the  vessel  in  which  she 
leaves  our  shores,  modestly  sends  him  the  full  account  of  her 
splendid  donations  to  the  sick  and  wounded  through  the  United 
States  Sanitary  Commission.     They  are  as  follows  :  — 


HER  LIFE,   LETTERS,  AND  MEMORIES.  187 

Benefit  at  Academy  of  Music,  Philadelphia,  September  12      .    $  1,314.27 
Benefit  at  Academy  of  Music,  Boston,  September  26  .         .  2,020.75 

Benefit  at  Grover's  Theatre,  Washington,  October  17     .         .        1,800.00 
Benefit  at  Ford's  Theatre,  Baltimore,  October  19  [this  small  re- 
ceipt is  attributable  to  the  negligence  and  carelessness  of 

the  manager.     C.  C] 360.00 

Benefit  at  Academy  of  Music,  New  York,  October  22    .        .       2,772.27 

Total $8,267.29 

"  This  magnificent  product  of  the  genius  of  Miss  Cushman, 
devoted  to  the  relief  of  our  suffering  soldiers,  is  only  the  most 
striking  exemplification  yet  made  of  woman's  power  and  will 
to  do  her  full  part  in  the  national  struggle.  Inspired  with 
love  and  pity,  American  women  have  been,  by  their  labors 
and  sympathies,  a  real  part  of  the  army,  and  their  ranks,  un- 
der leaders  like  Miss  Cushman,  will  not  break  while  their  sons, 
brothers,  and  husbands  are  faithful  in  the  field. 

"  It  is  due  to  Miss  Charlotte  Cushman  to  say  that  this  ex- 
traordinary gift  of  money,  so  magically  evoked  by  her  spell,  is 
but  the  least  part  of  the  service  which,  ever  since  the  war  be- 
gan, she  has  been  rendering  our  cause  in  Europe.  Her  ear- 
nest faith  in  the  darkest  hours,  her  prophetic  confidence  in 
our  success,  her  eloquent  patriotism  in  all  presences,  have  been 
potent  influences  abroad,  and  deserve  and  command  the  grati- 
tude of  the  whole  nation. 

"  In  compliment  to  the  noble  woman  whose  generous  gift  I 
here  publicly  acknowledge,  the  Commission  has  ordered  the 
whole  amount  to  be  expended  through  our  home  branches  in 
those  cities  where  the  several  sums  were  contributed,  that  this 
money  may  continue  as  long  as  possible  to  be  sanctified  by 
the  touch  only  of  women's  hands.  It  will  thus  reach  our  sol- 
diers in  battle-fields  and  hospitals  charged  with  the  blessings, 
prayers,  and  tears  of  American  womanhood. 

"  Henry  W.  Bellows, 
** President  United  States  Sanitary  Commission" 

After  Miss  Cushman's  return  to  Eome,  in  the  winter  of 
the  following  year,  she  was  honored  by  the  presentation 


188  CHARLOTTE  CUSHMAN  : 

of  a  large  and  superb  album,  containing  in  all  about  fifty 
paintings  in  oil  and  water  colors,  which  were  contributed 
by  some  of  the  leading  artists  of  New  York,  Boston,  and 
Philadelphia  to  the  great  Central  Fair  held  in  the  latter 
city  for  the  benefit  of  the  Sanitary  Commission.  The 
paintings  were  contributed  with  the  understanding  that 
the  album  should  be  subscribed  for  and  presented  to 
Miss  Cushman  by  friends  and  citizens  of  those  cities  in 
which  she  had  acted  for  the  cause.  The  book  is  elegantly 
bound,  and  is  a  valuable  and  much-prized  record  of  those 
stirring  times ;  with  it  came  three  smaller  volumes,  each 
containing  the  names  of  the  subscribers  to  this  compli- 
ment in  the  several  cities. 

In  the  course  of  this  season  Miss  Cushman  read  the 
ode  on  the  occasion  of  the  inauguration  of  the  great 
organ  in  the  Music  HaU,  Boston.  A  friend  writes  of 
this  event:  "I  never  shall  forget  how  beautiful  she 
looked  that  night,  and  how  the  organ  and  everything  else 
seemed  small  beside  her,  as  she  stood  on  the  platform,  so 
simple  and  so  grand  in  her  black  silk  dress,  which  she 
was  so  fond  of" 

These  little  reminiscences  and  enthusiasms  of  friend- 
ship are  very  precious ;  they  give  the  absolute  realities 
more  than  anything  else :  the  mind  is  impressed ;  the 
heart  awakened;  emotion,  which  is  the  errand  mametic 
element  whereby  the  real  and  ideal  are  fused  together  and 
made  one,  springs  up  and  recognizes  for  the  time  what- 
ever of  best  and  truest  and  holiest  is  before  it ;  spirit 
touches  spirit,  and  a  mutual  and  joyous  recognition  takes 
place.  So  there  is  no  higher  joy  than  the  heartfelt  appre- 
ciation and  love  which  Carlyle  has  immortalized  under 
the  name  of  "  hero-worship,"  and  no  lower  plane  than  a 
systematic  and  cynical  depreciation  of  its  God-given  truth 
and  beauty.     Miss  Cushman  lived  and  wrought  through 


HER  LIFE,  LETTERS,  AND  MEMORIES.  189 

this  power,  preserving  a  marvellous  equilibrium  of  the 
real  and  ideal  in  herself,  and  always  able  through  emotion 
to  establish  that  higher  relation  with  the  hearts  and  souls 
of  others  which  is  the  highest  gift  of  human  conscious- 
ness. Whatever  may  seem  extreme  or  exaggerated  in 
this  volume  is  due  to  the  writer's  high  appreciation  of 
this  great  gift,  and  her  belief  that  it  is  the  keynote  to  a 
character  which  could  not  be  fully  illustrated  without  it. 

On  November  3d  she  sailed  again  for  Liverpool,  and  on 
the  11th  of  December  started  for  Eome,  arriving  there  on 
the  22d.  Some  few  letters  give  expression  to  her  think- 
ings and  doings.  In  one  she  alludes  to  the  Eoman  ques- 
tion, then  beginning  to  occupy  all  minds.  Writing  to  her 
friend.  Miss  Fanny  Seward,  she  speaks  of  the  hurry  and 
rush  of  her  life  in  Eome,  and  the  difficulty  she  finds  in 
doing  justice  to  her  friends  at  a  distance,  the  pressure  near 
at  hand  being  so  great. 

"  If  only  the  day  could  be  an  hour  or  two  longer !  But 
Time  the  healer  (Time  the  killer)  flies  faster  here  in  Rome 
than  anywhere  else  in  the  world,  I  believe,  or  else  it  is  that 
the  social  duties  and  occupations  press  more  closely  than  else- 
where, and  an  engagement  or  claim  upon  our  time  treads  more 
nearly  upon  the  heels  of  another  than  in  any  other  city  they 
are  allowed  to  do.  Here,  the  population  in  winter  being 
mostly  a  floating  one,  everybody  has  to  compress  a  great  deal 
of  doing  and  being  into  a  shorter  space.  The  ought  to  do  rules 
supreme.  As  I  once  heard  an  exhausted  tourist  exclaim  lan- 
guidly, when  told  she  really  ought  to  see  this  and  that  and 
the  other  object  of  attraction,  —  *  0,  I  have  oitght  to'd  until 
I  am  fairly  worn  out  and  cannot  do  it  any  more  ! ' 

"  Something,  I  know  not  what,  prevents  the  pleasure  and 
duty  which  is  miles  away  from  being  performed  as  promptly 
as  those  which  hold  you  by  the  button.  I  don't  know  whether 
I  have  ever  told  you  that  here  in  Rome  there  are  or  seem  to 


190  CHARLOTTE  CUSHMAN  : 

be  strange  differences  in  the  value  of  things.  For  instance, 
the  pound  weight,  instead  of  being  sixteen  ounces,  is  only 
twelve;  the  foot  measure,  instead  of  being  twelve  inches,  is 
only  nine ;  and  I  think,  in  some  way,  this  must  apply  to  time 
as  well,  so  that  the  hour,  instead  of  being  sixty  minutes  long, 
is  only  forty-five  !  And  thus  I  try  to  explain  to  myself  why  I 
can  never  bring  as  much  to  pass  in  Rome  as  in  any  other  city. 
My  letters  to  you,  dear,  seem  always  to  consist  of  one  long 
preface  and  no  matter.  But  this  arises  from  my  disinclination 
to  allow  you  to  think  that  I  am  neglectful  of  your  sweet  let- 
ters, which  are  very  grateful  to  me  and  deserve  more  prompt 
response.  I  will  be  better,  more  worthy  of  your  affection  and 
its  expression,  now  that  the  whirl  and  hurry  of  the  winter  is 
over.  For  with  Easter  comes  the  flitting  of  the  winter  birds, 
when  everybody  who  is  not  Roman  or  an  artist  migrates  else- 
where, and  we  who  belong  to  the  working  tribes  are  able  to 
settle  down  to  a  quiet  which  is  never  known  in  the  winter 
months  of  the  Eternal  City.  None  but  artists  are  seen  about 
the  streets,  and  those  only  in  the  mornings  and  evenings ;  for 
the  heat  becomes  too  great  to  encounter  in  midday,  and  the 
streets  look  like  those  of  a  deserted  town.  Grass  grows  be- 
tween the  stones,  and  peace  reigns  calmer  than  even  Christ's 
vicar  on  earth,  the  Pope  himself,  —  who,  by  the  way,  is  the 
most  pugnacious  and  contumacious  old  gentleman  (not  to 
speak  irreverently,  to  offend  the  eyes  and  ears  of  the  powers 
that  be,  if  they  chance  to  overhaul  my  letter  at  the  post- 
office  before  it  leaves),  and  who  seems  disposed  to  fight  all 
creation,  and  even  believes  that  his  militant  prayers  against 
Russia,  for  her  behavior  in  Poland,  has  brought  down  from 
Heaven  this  terrible  pestilence  which  has  been  raging  there. 
They  make  the  most  of  this  *  outward  and  visible  sign,'  but 
say  nothing  of  their  having  been  compelled  by  the  pressure 
from  without  to  communicate  with  King  Victor  Emmanuel  con- 
cerning the  bishoprics  in  Romagna,  which  we  look  upon  as 
the  entering  wedge  and  wait  the  result  with  what  patience 
we  may  !     How  can  they  expect  of  a  Pope  to  be  fallible,  or  to 


HER  LIFE,   LETTERS,  AND   MEMORIES.  191 

admit  of  the  possibility  of  being  so  1  And  yet  France  goes  on 
quietly  begging  him  to  resign  the  temporal  power,  which,  by 
all  the  laws  of  Catholicism,  he  cannot  do.  Just  as  reasonable 
would  it  be  to  expect  Mr.  Lincoln  to  consent  to  a  breaking  up 
of  the  Union,  which  he  had,  on  taking  office,  sworn  to  protect 
and  hold  intact.  Only  physical  force  can  make  reason  among 
nations,  which  must  be  feared  to  be  respected.  The  Roman 
question  can  only  be  solved  by  making  Rome  a  free  city,  like 
Hamburg.  There  cannot  be  two  kings  of  Brentford,  nor  King 
Victor  and  King  Pope  Pius  in  Rome. 

"  If  it  is  not  possible  to  do  this,  the  question  is  no  nearer 
solution  to-day  than  since  Italy  was  first  land.  And  this  is 
my  political  conclusion  with  regard  to  the  country  where  I 
make  my  winter  home.  With  regard  to  my  own  dearly  beloved 
land,  of  which  I  am  so  proud  that  my  heart  swells  and  my 
eyes  brim  over  as  I  think  to-day  of  her  might,  her  majesty, 
and  the  power  of  her  long-suffering,  her  abiding  patience,  her 
unequalled  unanimity,  her  resolute  prudence,  her  inability  to 
recognize  bondage  and  freedom  in  our  constitution,  and  her 
stalwart  strength  in  forcing  that  which  she  could  not  obtain 
by  reasoning !  Four  years  and  a  half  ago  I  saw^  through  your 
father's  eyes  and  heard  through  his  voice  that  my  faith  would 
and  must  be  satisfied,  so  that  I  have  not  since  then  beaten 
about  to  convince  the  unbelieving  and  the  reluctant  to  be- 
lieve, but  have  looked  my  faith.  To-day  my  pride,  my  faith, 
my  love  of  country  is  blessed  and  satisfied  in  the  news  that 
has  flashed  to  us,  that  '  the  army  of  Lee  has  capitulated  ! ' 
that  we  are  and  must  be  one  sole,  undivided  —  not  common, 
but  'M?^common — country  ;  great,  glorious,  free  ;  henceforth  an 
honor  and  a  power  among  nations,  a  sign  and  a  symbol  to  the 
downtrodden  peoples,  and  a  terror  to  evil-doers  upon  earth  ! 

"  On  Monday,  the  24th,  I  received  your  most  welcome  let- 
ter of  the  4th  of  April,  giving  me  a  graphic  description  of  all 
you  had  been  doing  on  those  wonderful  days.  0, 1  would  have 
given  so  much  to  have  been  there !  Never  have  I  so  heart- 
ached  for  home  ;  and  yet,  if  I  had  been  at  home,  I  should  have 


192  CHAELOTTE  CUSHMAiT  : 

felt  that  I  wanted  to  hurry  on  to  "Washington  to  see  your 
father  and  thank  him  with  my  heart  and  with  my  hands  for 
all  his  good  works.  The  world  will  never  know  half  how  your 
father  has  been  the  sustaining  power  in  the  government ;  but 
/  know  it,  and  my  soul  is  deeply  grateful.  I  had  received  a 
telegram  from  Paris  telling  me  of  the  occupation  of  Richmond, 
etc.,  for  I  had  kept  myself  informed  upon  all  these  matters 
before  any  one  in  Rome,  and  it  enabled  me  to  give  comfort 
and  joy  on  so  many  occasions.  The  telegrams  of  Sunday 
night,  from  New  York,  11th,  brought  us  news  of  Lee's  surren- 
der, but  the  papers  the  next  morning  gave  details  of  the  news 
of  your  father's  accident,  which  carried  terror  to  my  soul  for 
him  and  sadness  for  you  in  your  great  anxiety." 

Writing  from  Rome,  in  January  of  this  year,  to  her 
dearly  beloved  niece,  Mrs.  E.  C.  Cushman.     She  says :  — 

*'  Another  six  days'  work  is  done, 
Another  [Friday]  is  begun 

Return,  my  soul,  enjoy  tke  rest,"  etc.  (see  Dr.  "Watts). 
Communing  with  a  daughter  blest  (C.  C.) 

might  carry  out  the  verse  and  rhyme ;  but  *  blest '  does  not 
quite  signify  what  I  would  convey.  '  Blessed  daughter,'  I  mean, 
for  are  you  not  my  daughter,  and  am  I  not  blessed  in  having 
such  an  one  1  A  M^hole  week  has  passed,  and  again  I  am  at 
my  writing-table,  talking  by  *  word  of  pen'  to  my  darlings 
over  the  sea,  the  dear  ones  who  occupy  so  much  of  my 
thoughts  and  my  affections.  How  are  they  ?  What  are  they 
doing,  thinking,  feelingl  Do  they  love  me  best  in  the  world]  Do 
they  want  me  as  I  want  them  1  Do  they  think  they  have  the 
best  'mum,'  as  I  think  I  have  the  best  children,  in  the  world  ] 
I  hope  so,  else  there  is  love  lost  between  us ;  and  yet,  we  are 
not  common  people,  we  have  a  specialty  for  adhering,  and  once 
loving,  we  love  always.  Is  it  not  so  ?  I  can  answer  for  one, 
and  you  for  two  others,  and  so  all  is  well ;  and  my  conclusion 
is  that  we  are  very  happy  people,  and  having  only  one  large 
cause  for  disquiet,  namely,  separation.  We  should  try  to  be  as 
content  as  circumstances  will  let  us  be,  finding  our  compensa- 


HER  LIFE,  LETTERS,  AND  MEMORIES.  193 

tion  in  the  large  love  and  faith  which  we  have  in  each  other. 
Few  people  are  so  blessed  in  their  relations,  few  people  have 
so  many  causes  and  reasons  for  being  thankful. 

'•  What  have  I  been  doing  since  I  wrote  to  you  'i  Just  the 
same  routine  of  work,  visits,  etc.  On  Sunday  I  did  not  go  to 
church,  but  stayed  at  home  to  read  the  three  cantos  of  Long- 
fellow's 'Dante,'  in  the  January  number  of  the  'Atlantic' 
How  beautiful  they  are !  How  thoroughly  they  impress  you  as 
being  faithful !  There  is  a  simple  grandeur  in  the  language 
and  ideas  which  must  be  of  Dante.  This  seems  to  me  one  of 
Longfellow's  special  gifts,  to  render  the  thoughts  of  poets  from 
one  language  to  another.  The  accomplished  scholar  thinks  in 
all  languages,  and  thus  we  have  a  translation  of  Dante's  'Para- 
dise,' which  I  don't  believe  has  ever  been  equalled.  I  am  so 
thankful  for  this,  not  reading  it  in  the  original.  You  would 
say,  then,  how  can  you  know  that  this  is  the  best  in  the  world  1 
I  can  only  answer,  my  instincts  tell  me  that  this  is  so;  there 
is  a  something  in  these  words  which  carry  me  to  the  height 
upon  which  I  conceive  Dante  to  be  placed,  and  no  other  trans- 
lation I  ever  saw  has  had  the  power  to  do  this.  Things  at 
home  seem  to  be  working  together  for  good.  I  find  the  Peace 
Democrats  talking  of  sending  commissioners  to  Richmond  to 
talk  of  terms.  The  administration  Speaker  elected,  all  things 
seem  easy,  and  the  only  way  the  peace  men  have  been  allowed 
any  share  of  the  spoils  is  by  changing  their  names  to  '  Con- 
servative War  Democrats.'  I  don't  know  how  there  can  be 
such  a  combination  as  conservative  war  Democrats  :  it  is  either 
peace  or  war,  and  no  half-way  stage  of  action.  But  politics 
does  not  mean  reason,  or  sense,  or  justice,  or  equity,  or  law, 
but  only  policy » 

"  '  Well,  aunty,  and  what  did  you  do  on  Monday  1 '  Went 
for  a  ride.  On  Tuesday,  we  had  a  grand  Bachelors'  ball  at  the 
Braschi,  to  which  your  aunty  went  in  canonicals,  namely,  white 
silk  dress  trimmed  with  black  lace  flounces.  I  had  a  hair- 
dresser, and  looked  stunning.  It  was  very  brilliant.  Your 
aunty  was  a  very  merry  bachelor.     On  Wednesday,  a  whist- 


194  CHARLOTTE  CUSHMAN : 

party  at  Palazzo  Barberini.  On  Thursday,  another  ride  on 
horseback.  Last  night,  a  grand  ball  at  Lady  Stafford's.  To- 
day I  have  been  making  calls,  and  hunting  up  apartments  for 

friends 

"  Show  me  a  man's  intimates,  and  I  will  tell  you  what  that 
man  is,  if  I  never  saw  him.  There  are  some  men  who  would 
rather  reign  in  hell  than  serve  in  heaven ;  but  gradually  these 
men  sink  in  the  social  scale,  and  their  true  value  appears.  I 
bless  my  mother  for  one  element  in  my  nature,  or  rather  my 
grandmother,  —  ambition.  I  cannot  endure  the  society  of 
people  who  are  beneath  me  in  character  or  ability.  I  hate  to 
have  satellites  of  an  inferior  calibre." 

In  the  spring  of  this  year  Miss  Cushman  made  an  ex- 
cursion to  Naples  with  a  party  of  friends,  for  whom  she 
assumed  the  roles  of  guide,  courier,  and  "  general  utility 
business"  with  her  wonted  kindly  zeal  and  inborn  ca- 
pacity. From  a  letter  written  at  Sorrento,  under  date, 
April  25, 1  select  the  following  :  — 

"My  last  hurried  letter  from  Naples  on  the  18th  will  have 
prepared  you  for  my  being  found  hereabouts ;  but  do  not  be 
surprised  if  my  letter  is  short  and  unsatisfactory.  The  shut- 
ting myself  up  to  write  when  in  Rome,  and  the  being  com- 
pelled to  do  so,  to  guard  myself  from  interruption,  has  made 
me  rather  dependent  upon  solitude  for  ability  to  write  at  all. 
Therefore,  when  sitting  in  company  with  four  other  ladies, 
each  of  them  occupied  in  dififerent  ways,  some  reading  up 
about  the  local  matters,  which  make  Sorrento  a  pleasant 
resting-place,  and  occasionally  thinking  aloud  the  information 
thus  gained,  as,  for  instance,  '  0,  they  have  honey  here ! ' 
another  replies,  'Have  they  honey  1'  another  sits  cracking 
hempseed  to  feed  a  poor  little  quail,  snatched  from  an  un- 
timely fate  (in  the  shape  of  a  boy)  yesterday ;  another  reads 
the  last  '  Atlantic  Monthly,'  and  exclaims,  '  How  odd  these 
Americans  are !  what  strange  galvanic  stories  they  write ! ' 
another,  who   is  busy  writing  herself,  suddenly  startles  me 


HER  LIFE,  LETTERS,  AND   MEMORIES.  195 

by  saying,  *  0,  Miss  Cushman,  can  you  tell  me  where  in 
Rome  I  can  buy  German  paste  for  a  canary-bird  V — knowing 
the  sort  of  intense  animal  I  am,  and  how  easy  it  is  to  send  me 
off  bodily  or  mentally  on  any  best  which  is  required,  you  can 
easily  imagine  how  difficult  it  must  be  for  me  to  think  about 
what  I  am  writing.  It  is  perfectly  heavenly  weather, — the  sky 
without  a  cloud ;  the  sun  shining  upon  the  water  at  a  distance 
(but  not  near,  for  you  know  the  sun  don't  come  upon  Sorrento 
or  its  waters  until  midday),  and  now  it  is  half  past  ten  o'clock 
A.  M.,  the  sea  as  calm  as  it  can  be  and  not  be  '  smooth  as  glass' ; 
Naples  distinctly  seen  opposite  to  us ;  Vesuvius,  in  a  gentle- 
manly mood  (not  smoking),  over  on  our  right  hand  ;  the  little 
towns  along  the  edge  of  the  sea,  with  their  bright  white  houses 
looking  like  pearls  around  the  sapphire  bay ;  the  hum  of 
voices  rising  from  far  down  on  the  edge  of  the  beach,  under 
our  windows,  with  an  occasional  snatch  of  '  Santa  Lucia '  or 
'  Carolina ' ;  the  air  perfectly  still,  not  too  warm,  nor  with 
enough  of  spring  in  it  to  take  out  its  little  '  snap '  of  vigor. 
I  do  assure  you  it  is  perfectly  delightful ;  and  as  if  to  help  to 
make  it  more  so  to  me,  yesterday  morning  I  received  your 
letter  of  the  24th  March,  as  well  as  more  favorable  news  from 
my  mother ;  so  you  see,  dear,  I  have  reason  to  see  all  the 
beauty  about  me  in  roseate  colors.  We  are  making  the  usual 
giro:  leaving  Naples  on  Wednesday,  since  which  time  we 
have  been  to  Salerno  and  Paestum ;  on  Thursday,  got  to  La 
Luna  at  Amalfi ;  on  Friday,  up  the  valley  of  St.  Drago  to 
Ravella  and  La  Scala,  to  see  the  Saracenic  remains,  and  down 
by  the  valley  of  the  mills,  —  a  giro  which  thoroughly  did  me 
up,  reminding  me  that  I  am  not  so  young  as  I  was  when  I 
visited  these  places  in  1853  and  1857,  but  still  as  receptive  of 
the  beauty  around  and  before  me  as  I  was  then." 

On  the  4th  of  March  of  this  year  (1865)  Miss  Cushman 
writes  from  Eome  :  — 

"  What  a  day  this  is  at  home !    How  grand  Mr.  Lincoln 
must  feel,  that  by  the  sheer  force  of  honesty,  integrity,  and 


196  CHAKLOTTE  CUSHMAN : 

patience,  he  has  overcome  faction  to  such  an  extent,  that  he 
is  to-day,  by  the  convictions  of  the  whole  people,  placed  again 
in  the  Presidential  chair  to  guide  and  protect  their  interests 
for  four  more  years.  The  first  election  of  a  President  may 
have  come  through  popular  clamor,  through  the  passions  and 
excitements  of  the  moment  being  successfully  played  upon  by 
popular  orators ;  but  the  calm  re-indorsement  of  faith  in  his 
judgment,  reason,  calmness,  prudence,  and  goodness,  after  such 
a  four  years,  is  a  spectacle  sublime  in  the  eyes  of  men  and 
angels,  at  a  juncture  like  the  present,  when  the  world  looks 
on  in  curious  wonder  and  doubt  and  distrust,  at  the  struggle 
upon  which  depend  republican  institutions  for  all  fixture  time. 
God  help  him  to  keep  true  and  faithful ! " 

Speaking  of  one  of  the  children,  she  says :  — 

"  We  shall  see  if  we  cannot  make  a  clever  man  of  him,  and 
then  it  will  not  matter  much  who  was  his  aunt  or  grandmother, 
while  his  ancestry  from  the  spring  or  fount  may  have  been 
a  prouder  one  than  many  can  boast.  The  name  Cushman 
comes  originally  from  the  Gross-hearer^  —  the  man  who  was 
worthiest  to  carry  the  cross  in  the  old  crusading  times,  —  and 
it  is  not  an  unworthy  stem  for  a  family  tree.  God  knows  it 
has  been  the  lot  of  all  ray  branch  of  that  genealogical  tree  to 
bear  crosses,  but  they  have  done  it  bravely,  and  always  with 
an  upward  and  onward  motto  and  tendency." 

Part  of  the  summer  of  this  year  Miss  Cushman  spent 
at  Harrowgate,  having  been  ordered  to  use  the  mineral 
waters  of  that  place.  She  speaks  of  her  stay  there  in  a 
letter  to  Miss  Seward. 

*'  You  will  be  glad  to  hear  that  my  stay  at  Harrowgate  has 
been  of  great  good  to  me  ;  I  am  better  and  stronger  and  more 
able  to  bear  the  strain  of  the  winter  upon  me.  For,  seeming 
so  strong  as  I  do,  it  would  appear  strange  that  any  social  tax 
could  weary  me  so  much  as  does  the  gayety  of  a  Roman 
winter.     I  have  so  much  society,  so  many  people  who  come 


HER  LIFE,  LETTERS,  AND   MEMORIES.  197 

to  me  with  letters  of  introduction,  so  much  to  do  in  the  way 
of  visiting  and  receiving  of  visits, — which  are  the  moths  of  life, 
I  think,  —  and  then  my  correspondence  has  been  so  large,  that 
I  am  literally  worn  out.  Harrowgate  is  the  highest  table-land 
upon  which  you  can  live  in  England,  and  is,  as  I  think  I  told 
you,  the  *  Sharon '  of  this  country.  This  is  my  second  summer 
here,  and  I  am  deriving  much  benefit  from  my  stay.  We  are 
staying  in  a  large,  old-fashioned  country  inn,  situated  at  the 
end  of  a  very  long  and  wide  green  common  called  the  ^  Stray.' 
Our  sitting-room  opens  by  a  few  steps  on  to  the  lawn,  where 
we  have  lovely  flowers,  pretty,  comfortable  garden-seats,  sun- 
shine pouring  in  upon  us  (and  you  must  be  informed  how 
rare  the  sunshine  is  in  England,  to  appreciate  the  blessing) ; 
all  the  airs  of  heaven  unchecked  blow  upon  us,  and  bring  us 
healing,  balm,  strength,  and  new  hope.  Everybody  walks 
briskly  here ;  even  the  dogs  feel  the  magnetic  virtue  of  the 
atmosphere,  and  carry  their  tails  at  a  particularly  stiff  angle, 
trotting  about  with  an  air  of  importance,  as  if  they  had  much 
to  do  in  the  world.  Here  we  shall  remain  until  the  16th,  when 
we  hope  to  go  to  a  very  lovely  country  called  the  '  Valley  of 
the  Wharfe,'  where  are  the  ruins  of  Bolton  Abbey,  the  most 
beautiful  in  England.  Towards  the  2 2d  we  get  to  London,  to 
make  ready  for  our  journey  to  Rome,  which  we  hope  to  reach 
by  the  2 2d  of  October,  not  a  day  later. 

"  I  have  done  very  little  reading  this  summer.  I  am  glad 
you  like  Jean  Ingelow.  She  is  a  charming  writer ;  fresh, 
vigorous,  pure,  and  good.  I  wanted  to  ask  you  if  you  had 
ever  read  Browning's  '  Saul ' ;  it  is  so  very  fine,  full  of 
grandeur  and  meaning.  You  say  so  truly  that  we  read  and 
read,  and  study  meanings  in  a  poet,  and  fail  to  comprehend 
all  he  intends ;  and  then  a  day  comes,  when  through  suffering, 
or  trial,  or  mental  growth  of  which  we  have  not  been  aware 
at  the  time,  the  meaning  of  the  poet  shines  upon  us  clear  as 
light,  and  we  marvel  that  we  never  understood  before.  I  find 
this  so  constantly,  that  I  cease  to  marvel  at  it  any  more ;  only 
wait  patiently  for  the  revelation. 


198  CHAELOTTE   CUSHMAN : 

"  Thanks  for  your  promise  of  your  fathers  speech,  and  your 
familiar  account  of  its  manner  of  being  given.  The  one  you 
sent  has  not  reached  me  yet,  but  I  see  extracts  from  it  in  all 
the  English  papers.  It  is  pregnant  with  meaning,  grand, 
strong,  comprehensive,  faithful,  and  true  ;  as  your  noble  father 
ever  is.  The  world  abroad  recognizes  his  power  more  than 
that  of  any  man  in  our  country.  He  has  truly  been  its 
savior,  and  I  love  him  individually  for  myself,  but  generally 
for  my  country,  which  owes  him  more  than  any  other  living 
man.  Thank  him  for  me  for  all  he  has  said  in  this  speech 
and  all  he  has  done  for  the  country.  I  recognize  in  all  things 
that  occur  the  results  he  prognosticated,  and  feel  that  he 
deserves  his  title,  *  Sage  of  Auburn '.  How  simple  and  how 
dignified  it  is  of  him,  whenever  he  has  anything  to  say  to  the 
country  or  the  world,  for  him  to  go  home  to  Auburn  to  say 
it.  I  think  it  is  just  splendid  of  him  to  do  it  in  that  way. 
I  should  so  like  to  hear  him  on  one  of  those  occasions." 

In  a  later  letter  from  Eome,  she  writes  :  — 

"  Almost  a  month  since  I  sent  you  off  an  unworthy  short 
note,  promising  a  letter,  and  now  here  is  another  of  the  same 
size  and  calibre,  starting  off  on  the  same  errand  of  promise, 
which  I  hope  may  be  more  ably  and  fittingly  realized  before 
another  month  goes  by.  But  '  man  (and  woman)  proposes, 
and  God  disposes ' ;  and  often  —  at  least  I  can  answer  for  one 
human  being,  weak  and  erring  —  I  am  so  entirely  c??'sposed  of 
by  circumstances  and  the  hour,  that  I  find  all  my  own  pro- 
positions  almost  vain  and  worthless.  Sometimes  my  friends 
argue  with  me  on  what  they  consider  the  wrong  of  yielding 
to  all  the  social  claims  made  upon  me ;  but  I  have  an  innate 
necessity  for  repaying  an  obligation.  If  people  pay  me  the 
compliment  to  want  my  society,  or  ask  my  advice  and  counsel, 
I  must  not  rest  under  the  obligation  of  the  compliment  they 
pay  me  and  their  good  opinion.  Thus  I  try  to  do  perhaps  too 
much  ;  but  this  is  the  day  of  small  things,  and  the  little  or 
the  much  I  can  do  in  this  world  must  be  done,  even  though  I 


HER  LIFE,  LETTERS,  AND  MEMORIES.  199 

suffer  through  my  inability  to  perform  all  the  duties  and 
pleasures  which  fall  to  my  lot.  So  you  will  forgive  me,  dear, 
my  many  shortcomings,  believing,  as  I  am  sure  you  will, 
that  it  is  not  for  lack  of  love  for  you,  or  wish  to  write,  but 
simply  that  the  day's  work  which  is  before  me  must  be  done 
first ;  and  then  come  my  own  pleasures,  chief  among  them  the 
communing  with  those  who  love  me  and  care  to  know  of  my 
life  outward  and  inward. 

I  can  hardly  express  my  thankfulness  that  our  home  matters 
are  going  on  so  well ;  that  rogues  seem  hanging  themselves  with 
generous  rope ;  that  honest  men  seem  coming  to  their  domin- 
ion ;  that  incompetency  seems  to  be  finding  its  punishment, 
provided  by  its  own  hand ;  that  honest  merit  seems  silently  to 
be  taking  its  place  in  the  front  ranks ;  that  the  law  will  be 
asserted  by  its  own  invincible  and  inevitable  power ;  and  that 
the  one  man  who  has  held  the  helm  against  faction  is  stem- 
ming the  tide  so  bravely,  that  all  men  of  all  sects  and  creeds 
are  coming  to  own  and  to  proclaim  him. 

Of  our  poets,  whom  we  both  love  and  prize,  have  you  seen 
Whittier  1  Do  you  know  his  poetry  well  1  If  not,  you  must 
know  it.  He  is  a  true  soul,  with  a  pure  poet's  heart.  He 
has  written  some  of  the  most  stirring  of  our  ballads.  The 
one  called  '  Cassandra  South  wick,'  and  '  Massachusetts  to  Vir- 
ginia,' and  another,  '  To  the  Reformers  of  England,'  are  among 
the  very  fine  things  in  our  language.  Last  night  I  was  read- 
ing for  some  young  friends  from  England  the  '  Guinevere ' 
Idyll  of  Tennyson,  and  the  '  Lady  of  Shalott ' ;  and  every  time 
I  read  him  I  am  more  and  more  impressed  with  the  beauty 
of  his  rhythm.  Never  was  such  a  master  of  versification  in  our 
time.  *  The  Lady  of  Shalott,'  read  in  a  measure  slowly,  is 
like  a  gently  flowing  river,  'as  it  goes  down  to  Camelot.' 
Ah,  I  wish  we  could  have  some  summer  days  together  in  the 
country,  when  I  could  point  out  to  you  all  my  treasures  in 
these  mighty  minds,  and  read  to  you  what  I  find  in  them." 

Miss  Cushman's  friendship  for  Mr.  Seward  and  his 
high  appreciation  and  regard  for  her  are  well  known.    His 


200  CHARLOTTE  CUSHMAN : 

correspondence  with  her  during  the  anxious  years  of  the 
war  was  a  source  of  comfort  and  strength  to  her,  and 
through  her  to  many  others.  His  letters  were  by  her 
own  special  direction  burned  after  her  death. 

It  was  not  long  after  this  that  the  fearful  news  of  Mr. 
Lincoln's  death  and  the  attack  upon  Mr.  Seward  flashed 
like  a  thunderbolt  upon  the  American  colony  at  Rome, 
blacker  and  heavier  from  coming  out  of  a  comparatively 
clear  sky.  Miss  Cushman's  own  words  will  best  express 
the  feeling  of  the  time.  Writing  to  Miss  Seward,  she 
says :  — 

"  How  my  heart  has  ached  for  you  and  yours  during  these 
last  terrible  three  days  !  In  our  dreadful  uncertainty  as  to  the 
safety  of  those  so  dear  to  us  both,  I  am  weak  and  powerless  to 
express  what  I  feel.  I  only  want  to  send  you  this  one  line  to 
let  you  know  how  I  sympathize  with  you  in  your  sufferings 
for  those  you  love ;  you  could  know  and  feel  this  by  your  own 
heart ;  but  you  must  let  it  speak  to  them  all  that  I  could  ofifer 
of  condolence,  sympathy,  respect,  and  affection.  I  hardly  know 
what  to  say  to  you,  for  it  is  now  a  fortnight  since  this  terrible, 
awful  act,  and  how  it  may  have  fared  with  you  all  it  is  difficult 
to  conjecture.  The  last  we  have  of  news  says,  *  Mr.  Seward  is 
considered  out  of  danger,  but  Mr.  Frederick  Seward  is  in  grave 
peril ! '  We  look  so  feverishly  and  anxiously  for  the  news  of 
the  19th,  which  we  hope  to  have  to-morrow.  Never  has  ex- 
citement and  anxiety  reached  such  a  point.  All  the  Americans 
here,  meet,  look  at  each  other,  and  burst  into  tears.  A  meet- 
ing was  held  at  the  Legation  yesterday,  and  resolutions  adopted 
which  reflect  credit  upon  all  who  joined  in  them.  This  after- 
noon we  are  to  have  a  funeral  ceremony  or  service  performed 
at  the  Legation  for  Mr.  Lincoln,  true  friend,  patriot,  martyr ; 
all  the  Americans  have  gone  into  mourning.  The  government 
has  ordered  the  flags  draped  in  mourning  for  three  days ;  never 
was  there  such  a  general  feeling  of  horror,  or  such  universal 
expression  of  respect.     Your  father's  life  is  prayed  for  as  never 


HER  LIFE,  LETTERS,  AND  MEMORIES.  201 

man's  was  before.  One  and  all,  friend  and  foe,  feel  how  more 
than  necessary  is  his  life  to  his  country ;  and  for  me,  I  can 
only  say  I  have  never  felt  such  a  sense  of  sorrow,  such  a  fear 
of  bereavement  and  desolation,  as  I  feel  now  through  my  fears 
for  him.  If  he  is  able  to  hear  it,  convey  to  him  through  your 
loving  words  what  I  would  say  but  cannot ;  and  if  he  cannot 
hear  it  (and  what  misery  there  is  in  that  thought !)  you  will 
convey  it  to  your  poor  dear  mother  instead.  God  bless  you 
and  help  you,  prays  your  attached 

"Charlotte  Cushman." 

The  natural  results  of  all  the  pain  and  horror  of  this 
time  followed  in  the  death  of  Mrs.  Seward,  and  soon  there- 
after that  of  her  daughter,  Miss  Fanny  Seward. 

Miss  Cushman  writes  of  this  last  sad  event  to  Mr. 
Seward :  — 

"  How  can  I  ever  tell  you  of  the  sadness  which  filled  my 
soul  at  the  intelligence  which  reached  me  on  my  return  to 
Rome  last  Saturday  night.  No  words  can  express  what  I  feel 
for  you  all,  how  truly  my  heart  goes  out  to  you  in  your  great 
sorrow  and  bereavement,  and  how  deeply  with  that  sorrow  for 
you  is  mingled  a  grief  for  my  own  loss,  which  I  find  it  so  diflfi- 
cult  to  realize.  I  ask  myself  every  hour,  *  Can  it  be  possible 
that  my  sweet  young  friend  has  passed  away,  and  shall  I  never 
see  her  more  %  *  This  is  hard  to  believe.  I  have  heard  from 
her  so  constantly  this  summer,  that  1  have  known  of  her  fail- 
ing health ;  but  her  last  letter  brought  me  so  much  better 
tidings  that  I  was  comforted  much,  and  therefore  the  sudden- 
ness of  the  announcement  shocked  me  more  than  words  can 
tell.  Alas  !  poor,  dear  child  !  how  short  has  been  her  separa- 
tion from  the  mother  she  adored,  and  what  terrible  sacrifices 
have  you,  my  noble  and  sorely  tried  friend,  been  called  upon 
to  lay  on  the  altar  of  your  country  !  How  more  than  hard  has 
been  your  way  !  how  terrible  your  pain  !  how  little  your  seem- 
ing reward !  but 

*  He  who  ascends  to  mountain-tops  shall  find 
The  loftiest  peaks  most  wrapped  in  clouds  and  snow. 
He  who  surpasses  and  subdues  mankind 


202  CHARLOTTE  CUSHMAN  : 

Must  look  down  on  the  hate  of  those  helow  ; 
Though  high  above  the  sun  of  glory  glow, 
And  far  beneath,  the  earth  and  ocean  spread, 
Round  him  are  icy  rocks,  and  loudly  blow 
Contending  tempests  on  his  naked  head  ; 
And  thus  reward  the  toils  which  to  those  summits  led.' 

My  heart  bleeds  and  aches  for  you  as  each  successive  blow 
falls  upon  you.  I  find  myself  awe-stricken,  wondering  how  it 
can  be  possible  that  you  should  endure  still  more  and  live  ! 
You  have  had  to  bear  so  much  in  every  way,  that  it  seems  to 
me  you  must  be  more  than  mortal  if  you  are  not  broken  in 
pieces.  I  do  not  ask  a  word  from  yourself,  for  that  would  be 
too  much  to  expect  at  such  a  time  ;  but  I  should  be  so  glad 

if  A would  find  time  and  heart  to  tell  me  of  you  all,  and 

if  she  can  of  her  also.  I  should  be  glad  of  some  particulars. 
About  a  month  ago  I  received  a  letter  from  the  dear  child 
friend,  in  which  she  enclosed  to  me  two  sweet  poems  expres- 
sive of  the  sublimest  trust  in  the  tender  love  of  God.  Do  you 
know  them  1  One  of  them,  *  God  Knows  Best,'  seemed  to 
me  so  full  of  saintly  thought,  as  well  as  the  most  beautiful 
faith  and  hope  !  She  was  fitted  for  her  translation,  dear 
friend,  and  this  must  be  some  consolation  when  you  grieve 
that  you  have  been  compelled  to  yield  her  up,  a  pure,  true 
sacrifice,  worthy  of  the  place  to  which  she  has  been  called. 
Her  last  letter  was  a  very  long  one,  written  in  the  midst  of 
those  she  most  loved  in  the  world,  in  the  little  library  at 
Washington.  She  described  the  scene  to  me,  —  what  you  were 
each  and  all  doing,  and  her  feelings  with  regard  to  each  and 
all.  Her  tender  love  and  reverence  for  you,  and  your  suffer- 
ings during  the  last  year  and  a  half,  had  permitted  her  to 
watch  over  you  as  you  had  ever  so  tenderly  watched  over  her, 
and  had  seemed  to  change  your  relations  toward  each  other, 
making  her  life  larger  and  richer  and  happier.  It  would  al- 
most seem  as  if  I  ought  to  send  you  this  letter ;  it  is  always 
sweet  to  know  how  one  is  loved  ;  and  you  shall  have  this  let- 
ter if  you  wish,  though  it  is  sadly  precious  to  me,  as  the  last 
I  can  ever  have  from  her  loving  hand. 


HER  LIFE,  LETTERS,  AND   MEMORIES.  203 

"  I  know  it  is  hard,  but  I  shall  be  so  glad  of  a  word  from 
among  you  that  I  venture  to  ask  it,  trusting  to  the  goodness 
and  kindness  you  have  always  shown  me.  I  regret  more  than 
ever  that  I  am  unable,  through  illness,  to  get  to  America  this 
summer ;  it  would  have  been  a  great  joy  to  me  then,  and  a 
great  consolation  to  me  now.  But  it  was  not  to  be.  Ah, 
my  friend,  truly  God's  ways  are  not  as  our  ways !  That  he 
may  bless  and  comfort  you,  prays  ever 

"  Your  faithfully  loving  friend, 

"Charlotte  Cushman." 

In  May  of  1866  Miss  Cushman  was  summoned  to 
England  to  her  mother's  death-bed.  At  that  time  all  Italy 
was  in  excitement  with  the  movement  of  troops,  and  reg- 
ular travel  was  for  a  time  much  impeded.  She  met  with 
many  delays  on  the  road,  and  had  the  unspeakable  pain 
of  meeting  in  Paris  the  sad  intelligence  that  she  was  too 
late.  Mrs.  Cushman  died  on  the  7th  of  May,  and  she 
only  arrived  in  time  to  follow  her  remains  to  the  grave. 
This  loss  cast  a  heavy  shadow  over  her  life,  and  she  lost 
after  it  much  of  her  hopeful  buoyancy  of  temperament, 
health  began  to  fail,  and  she  sought  change  and  relief 
in  movement. 

From  a  letter  of  this  period  I  extract  the  following. 
It  refers  to  certain  troubles  and  states  of  feeling  which 
had  caused  her  deep  anxiety  and  much  heart-burning. 
The  reflections  are  valuable,  as  showing  how  our  poor 
earthly  trials  and  resentments  fade  away  and  come  to 
nothingness  before  the  awful  presence  of  death:  — 

"  I  feel,"  she  says,  "  in  being  here  we  are  doing  more  to 
help  the  poor  dear  spirit  to  its  final  rest  than  by  all  the  masses 
that  could  be  said  or  sung  by  priest  or  pope.  You,  who  know 
our  inmost  hearts,  will  judge  us  fairly  in  this  act.  We  know 
that  we  are  doing  what  would  have  brought  comfort  to  her 
poor  dear  tired  heart  while  living,  but  what  in  the  pride  of 


204  CHARLOTTE   CUSHMAN : 

our  tempers  we  could  not  render  until  we  laid  her  in  the 
earth  by  the  side  of  the  child  she  so  loved,  and  for  seven  long, 
weary,  troubled  years  longed  to  rest  beside.  God  forgive  us, 
and  make  us  see  in  this  how  poor  are  all  earthly  resentments, 
how  unworthy  of  our  high  calling  as  ministers  each  to  do  his 
work  and  not  our  own  separate  individual  vengeances !  I 
don't  know,  but  it  seems  to  me  now  as  though  all  other 
troubles  that  can  come  to  me  will  be  more  easily  dealt  with 
than  they  have  ever  been  before.  We  shall  see.  The  future 
must  judge  us,  and  we  can  only  '  watch  and  pray.'  " 

It  was  during  the  winter  of  1867,  in  Eome,  that  Miss 
Cushman,  in  her  effort  to  help  a  deserving  and  suffering 
artist,  conceived  the  idea  of  presenting  to  the  Boston 
Music  Hall  the  masterly  alti-rilievi  which  now  adorn 
its  walls.  It  was  her  hope  that,  after  seeing  these  pro- 
ductions, a  subscription  might  be  raised  in  Boston  to  put 
them  into  a  more  durable  material  than  plaster;  and  with 
this  view  she  entered  into  correspondence  with  Dr.  Upham, 
the  President  of  the  Association.  It  was  not  found  prac- 
ticable at  that  time,  however,  to  raise  the  money  for  this 
purpose,  and  the  reliefs  were  inserted  as  they  came. 

The  Association,  however,  ordered  from  the  artist  two 
other  brackets  in  the  same  style,  sustaining  busts  of  Gluck 
and  Mendelssohn,  which  were  also  placed  in  the  walls  of 
the  Music  Hall,  making  a  series  of  admirable  and  ap- 
propriate ornaments.  The  Association  did  not  entirely 
abandon  the  idea  of  being  able  to  have  these  works  exe- 
cuted in  marble,  and  Miss  Cushman  proposed,  whenever 
any  effort  of  the  kind  should  be  made,  to  give  the  fund 
the  benefit  of  a  performance  for  that  purpose. 

This  good  intention  was  never  called  for,  and  the  brack- 
ets remain  as  they  came,  "  things  of  beauty  and  joys  for- 
ever" (though  in  a  very  perishable  material),  or  at  least  as 
long  as  Music  Hall  shall  be  spared  the  fate  which  it  is 
said  awaits  upon  such  structures  sooner  or  later. 


HER  LIFE,  LETTERS,  AND  MEMORIES.  205 

The  original  gift  comprised,  as  we  have  said,  busts  of 
three  great  musical  composers,  upheld  by  brackets,  orna- 
mented with  allegorical  iigures,  suggesting  the  distinctive 
genius,  style,  and  place  in  musical  history  of  each.  The 
heads  are  modelled  in  heroic,  or  more  than  life,  size. 
The  brackets  are  some  five  feet  long  by  three  feet  wide. 
The  figures  stand  out  in  full  alto-rilievo.  They  are  the 
w^orks  of  a  Danish  sculptor,  a  fellow-worker  of  Thorwald- 
sen,  Wilhelm  Mathieu  by  name,  who,  though  he  has 
created  real  works  of  genius,  lived  there  poor  and  old, 
and  comparatively  unknown.  Several  years  ago  he  de- 
signed and  executed  for  the  Grand  Duchess  Helena  of 
Russia  busts  of  three  great  musical  composers.  These 
are  the  works  which  Miss  Cushman,  captivated  by  their 
beauty,  has  presented  to  Music  Hall. 

"  The  first  bust  is  that  of  Palestrina,  a  very  noble  head, 
high,  symmetrical,  and  broad,  with  features  regular  and  finely 
cut,  giving  the  impression  of  rare  purity  and  truth  of  charac- 
ter, fine  intellectuality,  the  calm  dignity  of  a  soul  well  cen- 
tred, a  beautiful  harmony  of  strength  and  delicacy. 

"  As  Palestrina  was  the  great  reformer  of  church  music,  the 
master  in  whom  pure  religious  vocal  music  first  attained  to 
perfect  art,  there  stands  forth  from  the  centre  of  the  bracket 
a  figure  representing  the  genius  of  Harmony,  as  it  is  called 
by  the  artist,  or  say  St.  Cecilia,  holding  an  open  music-book 
of  large  wide  pages,  between  two  angels,  who  are  placed  a 
little  higher  in  the  background  :  one  of  them  with  folded 
hands,  and  lost  in  devotion,  reads  over  her  shoulder  from  the 
book ;  the  other,  pointing  to  the  notes,  appears  to  ask  her 
whence  the  music  came,  and  the  genius,  whose  eyes  are  up- 
turned, indicates  that  it  is  given  by  inspiration  from  above. 
The  three  forms  and  faces  are  instinct  with  a  divine  beauty  ; 
the  central  figure  is  one  of  unconscious  dignity  and  grace,  and 
is  the  loftiest  idea  of  pure  womanhood.     Above  and  behind 


206  CHARLOTTE   CUSIBLIN : 

this  group,  for  the  immediate  support  of  the  shelf  which  holds 
the  bust,  there  is  a  choir  of  little  cherubs,  with  sweet  faces, 
nestling  eagerly  together,  and  with  little  arms  encircling  each 
other's  necks,  who  are  singing  over  the  shoulders  of  Cecilia, 
and  seem  to  be  trying  the  new  heavenly  music.  It  needs  no 
argument  to  show  the  fitness  of  the  allegory ;  it  speaks  for 
itself. 

"  The  next  bust  is  Mozart's,  type  of  all  that  is  graceful  and 
spontaneous  in  music,  and  of  perpetual  youth ;  the  purest 
type  of  genius  perhaps  that  ever  yet  appeared  in  any  art,  or 
in  literature,  if  we  except  Shakespeare.  Not  that  there  has 
been  no  other  composer  so  great,  but  that  there  has  been  none 
whose  whole  invention  and  processes  have  been  so  purely 
those  of  genius.  Learned  and  laborious  though  he  was,  yet 
he  created  music  as  naturally  as  he  breathed ;  music  was  his 
very  atmosphere  and  native  language.  The  busts  and  por- 
traits which  we  see  of  Mozart  differ  widely,  almost  irrecon- 
cilably. This  one  adheres  mainly  to  the  portrait  from  life  of 
Tischbein,  with  aid  from  several  sculptures.  Of  all  the  busts 
we  have  seen,  it  seems  the  worthiest  to  pass  for  Mozart.  It 
has  the  genial,  beaming,  youthful  face,  with  nothing  small  or 
weak  in  any  feature,  —  the  full  eyes,  square  eyebrows,  broad, 
large,  thoughtful  forehead ;  the  full,  compact  head ;  the  long 
nose  withal.     Altogether  it  is  very  winning. 

"  Mozart  was  the  complete  musician ;  his  genius  did  not 
wholly  run  in  one  direction.  Like  the  other  greatest  modern 
masters,  he  was  master  in  all  kinds,  in  symphony  as  well  as 
in  song.  But  w^herein  he  lives  pre-eminent  is  in  the  lyric  or 
dramatic  union  of  orchestra  and  human  voices,  best  shown 
in  his  operas,  but  shown  also  in  his  sacred  compositions. 
Accordingly,  to  symbolize  at  once  the  most  graceful  minister 
that  music  ever  had,  as  well  as  his  peculiarly  lyrical  province, 
the  artist  has  given  for  a  central  support  to  the  bust  the 
trunk  of  the  German  oak,  about  which,  under  its  umbrageous 
canopy,  circle  the  three  Graces,  with  flying  feet  and  flow- 
ing skirts,  linked  hand  in  hand,  sisterly,  in  mutual  guidance ; 


HER  LIFE,  LETTERS,  AND  MEMORIES.  207 

though  in  truth  the  middle  one  guides  the  other  two,  for 
cause  which  shall  appear. 

"  In  these  three  Graces  he  has  represented  the  three  char- 
acters of  music,  —  the  joyous,  the  sacred,  and  the  tragic.  The 
foremost  in  the  dance,  with  full,  open  face  and  breast,  all 
sunshine  and  delight,  with  the  right  arm  thrown  up,  and 
holding  a  bunch  of  grapes  over  her  head,  is  joyous  in  the 
sweetest  sense ;  her  other  hand  is  gently  detained  by  her 
religious  sister,  —  the  unspeakably  lovely  one  between  us  and 
the  oak,  whose  shoulders  thrown  back,  and  intent  head  in 
half  profile,  slightly  bent  in  serious  blissful  meditation,  remind 
us  not  a  little  of  Jenny  Lind,  save  that  in  beauty  it  exceeds 
her  as  far  as  she  exceeded  herself  when  she  rose  in  song.  Her 
left  arm  sustains,  and  seems  to  lead  forward,  her  drooping 
sister  Tragedy,  whose  head,  deeply  bent,  looks  off  and  down- 
wards to  the  left,  and  takes  the  shadow  of  the  picture,  while 
the  left  arm  is  gracefully  thrown  up  to  balance  the  raised 
right  arm  of  the  joyous  one.  At  their  feet  the  masks  of 
Tragedy  and  Comedy  lean  against  the  tree,  grouping  with  the 
pineapple  of  a  thyrsus  stick.  The  whole  group  is  exquisite 
—  so  rhythmical,  so  fluid,  free,  exhaustless  in  its  movement, 
that  it  becomes  fugue  and  music  to  the  eyes,  drapery  and 
all  accessories  in  perfect  keeping.  Around  the  top  of  the  oak 
stem  is  carved  the  word  *  Requiem,'  the  last  unfinished  work 
and  aspiration  of  the  composer,  below  which  a  wreath  of  laurel 
rests  upon  the  oak  leaves.  The  Mozart  seems  to  us  the  hap- 
piest conception  of  the  three.  This  one  design  should  be 
enough  to  make  its  author  famous. 

"  Beethoven  is  the  subject  of  the  third  bust,  which  also  is 
extremely  interesting ;  and  yet  to  many  it  will  prove  the  least 
satisfactory  of  the  three.  Indeed,  Beethoven  is  far  more  diffi- 
cult to  symbolize  in  art  than  either  of  the  others.  The  head 
is  modelled  mainly  from  a  good  bust  made  in  Vienna,  and  is 
doubtless  far  more  true  to  actual  life,  if  not  a  stronger  head, 
than  Crawford's  noble  but  only  ideally  true  statue.  Whether 
a  better  bust  of  Beethoven  exists  we  know  not ;  but  certainly 
none  so  good  has  found  its  way  before  to  America. 


208  CHARLOTTE  CUSHMAN : 

**  But  how  to  symbolize  the  genius  of  Beethoven,  —  one  so 
many-sided,  so  profound,  struggling  with  untoward  fate,  yet 
full  of  secret  hope  and  joy  beyond  the  cloud,  of  glorious  aspi- 
ration for  the  human  race,  —  one  bom  into  the  new  era  with 
the  hope  of  universal  liberty  and  sanctity  and  brotherhood  ] 
It  is  easy  to  think  of  his  power,  and  how  he  wields  the  thun- 
derbolts and  smites  in  the  climax  of  his  harmonies,  and  how 
Jove-like  and  all-conquering  he  is.  The  Germans  sometimes 
call  him  the  *  Thunderer ' ;  and  so  our  artist  has  chosen,  for 
support  of  the  bust,  Jupiter  Tonans  himself,  sitting  throned 
upon  his  eagle,  which  clutches  the  thunderbolts  in  its  talons 
and  soars  through  immensity.  Above  the  god's  shoulders  ap- 
pear two  winged  genii  holding  up  the  bracket.  There  is  a 
fine  truth  to  the  glorious  uplifting  sense  his  music  gives  us 
in  the  idea  of  being  borne  aloft  by  Jove's  strong  eagle. 

"But  the  sweetness,  the  tenderness,  the  frolic  fancy,  are 
quite  as  characteristic  as  the  strength  and  kingliness  of 
Beethoven ;  and  our  artist  has  made  the  Thunderer  relax  his 
gravity  and  listen  with  inclined,  smiling  face  to  a  little  urchin 
of  a  Cupid,  seated  on  the  eagle's  wing,  who,  with  upraised  looks 
and  hands,  is  telling  merry  stories  to  the  god  of  gods,  clearly 
in  allusion  to  the  humorous  passages  —  the  scherzos  —  in 
Beethoven's  music.     The  thought  is  a  happy  one."* 

In  September  of  1867  Miss  Cushman  writes  from  Bude, 
a  little  fishing- village  on  the  picturesque  coast  of  Corn- 
wall:— 

*  I  find  this  worthy  description  of  these  interesting  sculptures  in  the 
Atlantic  Monthly  for  March,  1868,  and  have  thought  it  well  to  insert 
it  here,  not  only  for  its  own  sake,  but  by  way  of  calling  public  attention 
once  more  to  them,  and  to  the  fact  that  they  are  now  so  placed  in  Music 
Hall  that  they  are  never  really  seen,  and  to  express  the  wish  of  many 
admirers,  that  they  might  now  be  transferred  to  the  Museum  of  Art,  and 
placed  in  a  position  to  be  seen  and  appreciated,  where  they  would  be  a 
monument  to  Miss  Cushman's  taste  as  well  as  to  that  generous  quality  of 
heart  which  prompted  her  desire  to  further  and  bring  out  the  manifesta- 
tion of  other  artists'  genius.    I  have  recalled  them  and  their  presentation 


HER  LIFE,  LETTERS,  AND  MEMORIES.  209 

"  I  do  SO  wish  you  could  have  been  here  with  me ;  such  a 
quaint,  simple,  primitive  place,  with  a  lovely  beach  for  bath- 
ing, nestled  amid  cathedral-like  rocks,  and  no  Mrs.  Grundy 
to  see  or  care  for,  so  you  can  wear  what  you  choose ;  food  ex- 
cellent, and  cheapness  amazing.  In  its  general  aspect,  Bude 
is  not  unlike  Newport ;  the  cliffs  are  something  like,  but 
finer  and  grander,  and  the  downs  much  more  extensive.  There 
is  a  little  breakwater  to  keep  off  the  encroachments  of  the 
Atlantic  waves,  which  roll  in  here  miles  in  extent,  a  splendid 
sight.  We,  with  three  dear  friends  of  ours,  go  down  and  sit 
for  hours  among  the  rocks  and  watch  the  waves  coming,  dash- 
ing, and  booming  up  against  them,  and  thrown  back  again,  in 
a  wilderness  of  milky  foam,  which  beats  again  and  again  upon 
the  rocks  until  it  is  caught  up  by  the  wind  and  blown  about 
like  great  white  sea-birds.  One  day  we  saw  Macdonald,  who 
is  living  in  a  cottage  here  with  hosts  of  children,  cross  over 
the  breakwater  when  the  tide  was  just  beginning  to  creep 
over  it.  He  carried  one  baby  in  his  arms,  led  another  by  the 
hand,  and  a  third  toddler  held  on  by  the  second.  We  watched 
this  procession  breathlessly,  as  you  may  imagine.  They  ar- 
rived safely  at  the  other  end,  where  the  breakwater  ends  in  a 
high  mass  of  rock  upon  which  are  some  buildings.  Now  the 
question  arose  whether  they  would  attempt  the  return,  for 
every  moment  the  tide  washed  heavier  over  and  between  the 
huge  stones  of  the  breakwater ;  presently,  back  they  came, 
almost  blinded  by  the  spray  and  foam,  but  full  of  courage  and 

to  the  hall  as  a  fine  example  of  Miss  Cushman's  manner  of  doing  things 
of  this  kind,  not  merely  giving  help  to  a  deserving  artist,  which  is  easy 
where  mere  money  is  concerned,  but  giving  it  in  a  way  which,  beside 
helping  his  material  needs,  supplied  that  still  more  important  aliment 
for  which  he  was  suffering,  namely,  appreciation  and  encouragement  in 
his  art.  Add  to  this  the  {esthetic  value  of  these  gifts  as  well  as  their 
value  to  the  country  in  their  beautiful  and  varied  suggestiveness,  and  it 
will  be  seen  how  far-reaching  and  complete  were  Miss  Cushman's  ways  of 
dealing  in  such  matters,  and  what  capacity  and  energy  she  brought  to  bear 
upon  them,  taking  untold  trouble  in  the  way  of  correspondence,  manage- 
ment, etc.,  of  which  those  who  enjoy  the  results  very  little  dream. 


210 


CHARLOTTE  CUSHMAN. 


pluck,  not  one  of  them  shrinking  or  betraying  the  least  sign 
of  fear.  The  baby  crowed  aloud  with  delight.  Macdonald 
came  to  speak  to  me  afterward,  and  made  very  light  of  the 
adventure.  "  It  does  them  good,"  he  said  ;  "  they  like  it."  I 
am  so  much  better  and  stronger  for  this  wild,  unceremonious 
life  among  the  rocks  and  deep-sea  caves.  We  have  our  din- 
ner sent  down  to  the  shore,  and  eat  it  with  good  appetite  and 
plenty  of  sea-salt.  Then  we  sit  and  read  or  sleep,  propped 
against  rocks,  and  full  of  content  until  the  spirit  stirs  us  to 
movement,  and  then  we  clamber  about  and  explore  and  find 
no  end  of  curious  things.  The  tide  falls  here  so  many  feet 
that  the  caves  are  full  of  deep-sea  curiosities  left  in  the  pools 
and  shallows." 


r    MX    II    n    n    n    IT 


I     I  It    ij    ''    '' ^L^^ 


^    "    "    "    ^*    ^'     "    ■' 


CHAPTER    X, 


DRAMATIC    READINGS. 


"  The  purpose  of  playing 
la  to  show  virtue  her  own  feature, 

Scorn  her  own  image,  and  the  very  age  and  body  of  the  time 
His  form  and  pressure." 

Hamlet. 


T  was  not  until  the  last  six  years  of  her  life  that 
Miss  Cushman  fully  developed  her  unequalled 
ability  as  a  dramatic  reader.  She  had  given 
occasional  public  readings  before  that  time.  She  was  al- 
ways ready  to  amuse  and  delight  the  social  circle,  and  she 
rarely  refused  to  lend  her  powerful  aid  in  that  way  to  any 
worthy  object  of  charity ;  but  it  was  not  until  these  later 
years,  when,  by  the  ad\dce  of  physicians  and  the  counsels 
of  her  own  strong  heart,  she  sought  refuge  from  herself  in 
her  art  and  nobly  struggled  against  the  lowering  influ- 
ences of  a  fatal  malady  in  the  exercise  of  her  great  gifts, 
that  she  came  to  what  was  undoubtedly  the  highest  cul- 
mination of  her  genius. 

In  this  effort,  which  was  persistently  and  thoroughly 
pursued  through  trials  of  strength  and  patient  endurance 
unparalleled,  she  did  forget  herself,  and  rose  always  nobly 
and  unflinchingly  to  the  heights  of  her  possibility,  and 
to  the  entire  satisfaction  of  her  hearers,  little  dreaming, 
while  so  rapt  and  delighted,  how  much  of  pain  and  suf- 


212  CHARLOTTE   CUSHMAN : 

fering  was  held  in  abeyance,  if  not  absolutely  conquered, 
in  the  effort.  All  Miss  Cushman's  nearest  friends  were 
anxious  and  troubled  when  she  came  to  this  resolution 
to  continue  working.  It  was  difficult  for  any  one  to 
believe  how  completely  spirit  could  conquer  matter  in 
her  nature,  and  to  those  who  watched  this  struggle  dur- 
ing these  latter  years ;  it  was  not  strange  that  they  never 
could  fully  realize  the  possibility  of  surrender  in  the  end. 
She  was  heroic  in  her  suffering,  as  in  all  things  else.  She 
it  was  who  sustained  others ;  she  held  them  up  in  her 
strong  arms  and  comforted  them,  instead  of  leaning  heav- 
ily upon  them.  In  her  sick-room  she  was  still  as  much 
a  queen  as  when,  in  the  role  of  Katharine,  she  drew  the 
faithful  picture  of  a  noble  and  saintly  death-bed. 

It  was  in  this  play,  "  King  Henry  VIII.,"  at  Provi- 
dence, that  she  made  her  first  essay  as  a  reader,  after 
her  resolution  was  taken.  She  read  only  the  play ;  she 
had  not  then  added  to  her  repertoire  the  innumerable 
subjects  with  which  she  afterwards  diversified  her  pro- 
grammes. On  this  occasion  she  was  a  little  nervous, 
and  friends  among  the  audience  not  less  so.  But  the 
moment  she  made  her  appearance  on  the  platform  they 
felt  that  all  fears  for  her  were  superfluous ;  for  her  there 
was  "  no  such  word  as  fail." 

The  surpassing  power  of  concentrativeness,  which  may 
be  said  to  have  been  the  keystone  to  the  arch  in  her 
character,  brought  her  at  once,  full,  rounded,  and  com- 
plete, to  the  perfect  possession  of  herself  and  the  needs  of 
the  occasion.  She  seemed  to  cast  off,  with  grand  ease, 
every  influence,  every  suggestion  of  any  other  life  but 
the  one  she  was  for  the  time  to  interpret.  She  identified 
herself  with  it,  and  from  the  moment  when,  after  her 
graceful,  self-possessed  entrance,  she  seated  herself  at  her 
table,  and,  with  one  comprehensive  glance  which  seemed 


HER  LIFE,  LETTERS,  AND   MEMORIES.  213 

to  gather  in  all  her  audience  and  hold  them,  as  it  were,  by 
a  spell  peculiarly  her  own, — the  spell  of  a  potent  and  irre- 
sistible magnetism,  —  she  set  aside  all  feeling  of  personal 
identity,  and  lived,  and  moved,  and  acted  the  varied  per- 
sonages of  the  story  as  they  each  came  upon  the  scene ; 
and  not  only  in  voice  and  word,  but  in  look  and  bearing, 
they  lived  before  us,  each  one  distinctly  marked  and 
individual,  and  never  by  any  chance  merging  into  the 
others,  or  losing  its  clearly  marked  character. 

It  hardly  needed  that  she  should  ever  repeat  over  the 
names  of  the  dramatis  personce ;  they  spoke  for  them- 
selves, and  came  and  went  as  vividly,  and  far  more  ably, 
than  they  are  often  seen  upon  the  stage.  It  was  well  said 
by  a  friend,  on  one  occasion,  "  I  much  prefer  hearing  Miss 
Cushman  read  to  seeing  her  act,  because  in  the  readings 
she  is  so  well  supported."  All  the  minor  parts  are  given 
their  full  value  and  significance,  and  one  receives  a  strong 
impression  of  what  the  drama  might  be  if  this  com- 
pleteness were  more  persistently  aimed  at.  Often  these 
small  parts  in  able  hands  assume  an  unexpected  impor- 
tance, are,  indeed,  like  certain  shifting  tints  or  fitful 
lights  in  a  picture,  important  adjuncts  to  the  general 
effect,  and  meant  to  be  such  by  the  artist  or  dramatist ; 
connecting  links,  as  it  were,  whereby  the  passion  or 
emotion  is  subdued  or  heightened ;  points  of  repose 
upon  which  the  mind  can  rest  for  a  moment,  contrast- 
ing or  enhancing  the  situation.  Shakespeare  is  fuU 
of  such  artistic  contrasts,  and  Miss  Cushman  felt  and 
used  them  with  her  wonted  dramatic  instinct.  In  "  Mac- 
beth," for  example,  she  always  read  a  scene,  seldom  or 
never  acted,  where  a  drunken  porter  holds  the  stage 
for  a  time  with  a  kind  of  maudlin  soliloquy,  between 
the  dumb  horror  of  the  midnight  murder  and  the  awful 
tumult   of  its   discovery.     This   bit   of   humor   on   the 


214  CHARLOTTE   CUSHMAN  : 

very  verge  of  hell  is  a  kind  of  artistic  necessity,  and 
carries  out  an  artistic  law ;  and  the  ignorance  and  indiffer- 
ence to  all  such  delicate  shades  in  the  ordinary  conduct 
of  the  theatre  shows  how  very  large  a  margin  for  prog- 
ress exists  there. 

To  return  to  the  reading  of  Queen  Katharine.  From  the 
moment  of  her  entrance  all  anxiety  ceased.  It  was  com- 
pletely successful,  and  hardly  needed  that  she  should  ask, 
when  it  was  over,  with  the  eager  simplicity  which  was  a 
part  of  her  nature,  "Well,  were  you  satisfied?"  and  to 
flush  with  gratification  at  the  response,  "  Soul-satisfied." 
This  appreciation  from  those  she  loved  was  even  more 
necessary  to  her  than  the  larger  verdict  of  the  public; 
though  to  her  quick  spirit  that  was  very  needful.  She 
was  always  working  hard  for  it,  and  could  never  be  satis- 
fied unless  it  came.  Sometimes  it  seemed  as  if  she  might 
surpass  the  bounds  of  the  highest  endeavor  in  her  effort 
to  secure  this ;  that  it  might  be  a  temptation  to  her  to 
overdo.  Her  first  and  instinctive  creation  was  always 
her  best.  But  of  what  art  may  not  this  be  said  ?  Human 
effort  must  be  more  or  less  imperfect.  In  a  bright,  crea- 
tive moment  comes  a  flash,  as  it  were,  of  influence  from 
some  God-given  source ;  the  hand,  the  pen,  the  tool,  works 
with  power,  something  far  beyond  our  ordinary  efforts,  — 
it  may  be  crude,  incomplete ;  the  common  eye  cannot  see 
its  value;  we  ourselves  hope  from  it  still  unutterable 
things ;  but  there  is  in  it  something  not  to  be  improved 
upon ;  all  the  care  and  work  and  study  in  the  world  will 
not  add  to  that  intangible  something ;  labor  only  weakens 
it,  what  is  called  finish  only  disguises  it,  it  is  lost  in  the 
handling,  it  is  spiritual  and  immortal.  This  it  is  which 
makes  the  rough  sketches  of  great  masters  so  valuable 
and  important.  The  very  highest  culture  covets  them, 
the  most  precious  fruition  of  the  world  culminates  in  these 


HER  LIFE,  LETTERS,  AND  MEMORIES.  215 

sparks  from  an  immortal  source.  It  is  the  only  way  that 
we  can  explain  what  is  called  the  inequality  of  genius ; 
no  human  creature  can  be  always  up  to  the  height  of 
the  best  that  is  in  them,  and  they  do  not  always  know 
their  best.  The  love  of  the  world  for  outside  glitter  or 
polish,  the  feverish  craving  for  excitement,  the  demand 
for  the  sensational  and  extreme,  has  ruined  many  an  artist 
and  spoiled  many  a  work  of  true  genius.  If  Miss  Cush- 
man  yielded  to  such  influences  at  aU,  —  and  it  requires  the 
strongest  kind  of  a  nature  to  resist  them,  —  it  was  in  a 
very  modified  degree ;  her  nature  was  too  thorough  and 
too  instinctive  to  err  much  on  the  wrong  side,  if  at  aU. 

The  Shakespearian  Headings  were  of  course  her  highest 
manifestation  in  this  branch  of  her  art.  Such  a  combina- 
tion of  fine  presence,  noble  voice,  perfect  delivery,  and 
admirable  elocution  has  seldom  been  brought  to  bear 
upon  the  matchless  productions  of  Shakespeare ;  but  she 
possessed  beside  a  large  and  varied  repertoire  of  choice 
reading,  in  which  her  ability  found  unlimited  range,  and 
left  her  without  a  rival.  Earnestness,  intensity,  here  as 
ever,  were  the  chief  characteristics  of  her  style ;  but  there 
was  never  wanting  in  its  proper  place,  tenderness,  deli- 
cacy, pathos ;  while  humor,  from  its  subtlest  to  its  broadest 
shades,  has  probably  never  found  an  abler  interpreter. 

Of  her  Shakespearian  Eeadings,  "  Macbeth  "  must  take 
the  first  place,  but  Queen  Katharine  was  her  favorite  part. 
She  was  greatly  in  sympathy  with  the  noble,  pious,  and 
long-suffering  queen,  who,  in  a  position  of  unmerited 
abasement,  knew  how  to  bear  herself  so  royally ;  and  she 
identified  herself  so  completely  with  the  character,  that 
the  tender  inspiration  of  the  last  scene  would  be  visible 
in  her  face  and  eyes  long  after  she  had  left  the  stage. 
The  part  of  Lady  Macbeth,  on  the  contrary,  she  disliked. 
The  marked  contrast  between  these  two  parts,  which. 


216  CHARLOTTE  CUSHMAN: 

during  the  latter  years  of  her  life,  when  her  range  of 
acting  parts  became  so  limited,  she  was  called  upon  so 
constantly  to  repeat,  she  often  discussed  with  masterly 
analysis  and  depth  of  insight,  —  the  good  and  the  evil 
principles  warring  upon  the  field  of  life,  the  one  triumph- 
ing through  apparent  failure,  the  other  wrecked  amid  ap- 
parent success ;  the  noble  and  saintly  queen  rising  above 
aU  her  woes  in  the  divine  panoply  of  virtue ;  the  bloody 
and  remorseless  murderess  overwhelmed  and  destroyed 
by  the  recoil  of  her  own  weapons  upon  herself,  able  to 
do  the  evil,  but  unable  to  bear  its  consequences. 

She  liked  better  to  read  "Macbeth"  than  to  act  it, 
because  in  the  reading  of  the  other  parts  she  could  find 
relief  from  the  tension  and  strain  she  experienced  in  the 
realization  of  a  character  so  opposed  in  all  ways  to  her 
own.  It  may  be  said,  it  is  especially  the  function  of 
the  dramatic  art,  and  the  crowning  glory  of  an  artist,  to 
be  able  to  embody  all  shades  and  varieties  of  character, 
whether  in  sympathy  with  them  or  not.  This  is  un- 
doubtedly true,  and  Miss  Cushman  never  allowed  her 
want  of  sympathy  with  a  part  to  affect  or  weaken  her 
interpretation  of  it ;  but  we  are  speaking  now,  not  merely 
of  Miss  Cushman  as  she  appeared  upon  the  stage,  but 
trying  to  give  a  rounded  and  complete  portrait  of  her  in 
all  her  phases,  both  on  and  off  the  stage ;  and  there  was 
a  side  to  her  which  was  above  and  beyond  the  mere  act- 
ing of  a  part,  a  side  of  her  nature  which  made  her  far 
more  than  an  actress ;  which  enabled  her  to  fill  the  role 
of  a  noble  and  thoughtful  woman.  She  analyzed  all  her 
parts,  and  missed  no  shade  of  their  true  embodiment ;  but 
for  her  own  supreme  role,  no  study  and  no  analysis  was 
necessary,  for  God  had  cast  her  for  the  part. 

It  is  well  known  that  Miss  Cushman  on  a  few  occasions 
acted  the  part  of  Hamlet,  and  it  was  a  performance  which 


HER  LIFE,  LETTERS,  AND   MEMORIES.  217 

gave  her  intense  pleasure.  She  alludes  to  it  in  some  of 
her  letters  as  the  very  highest  effort  she  had  ever  made, 
and  the  most  exhausting ;  of  all  her  parts,  this  one  seemed 
to  fill  out  most  completely  the  entire  range  of  her  powers. 
What  has  been  said  of  Eomeo  in  another  part  of  this 
memoir  applies  equally  to  Hamlet.  It  is  a  part  which 
cannot  be  well  filled,  except  by  a  man  too  young  to  have 
achieved  the  necessary  experience :  a  crude  Hamlet  is  in- 
sufferable ;  an  old  Hamlet  is  equally  incongruous ;  in  this 
respect  Miss  Cushman  satisfied  the  eye,  in  all  others  she 
gratified  the  mind.  The  matchless  delivery  of  that  im- 
mortal language,  no  word  or  sentence  slurred  over  or  "  come 
tardy  off,"  no  delicate  intricacies  of  thought  left  obscure, 
but  all  illuminated  by  a  genius  created  for  such  interpre- 
tation, was  alone  a  treat  beyond  comparison.  Miss  Cush- 
man looked  the  part  of  Hamlet  as  well  as  she  did  that  of 
Eomeo.  Her  commanding  and  well-made  figure  appeared 
to  advantage  in  the  dress  of  the  princely  Dane,  and  her 
long  experience  in  the  assumption  of  male  parts  took 
from  her  appearance  all  sense  of  incongruity.  In  fact, 
her  excellence  in  whatever  she  undertook  to  do  disarmed 
criticism  and  satisfied  the  mind  and  the  eye  at  once. 

Her  assumption  of  the  part  of  Cardinal  Wolsey  was 
another  exceptional  triumph  of  the  like  kind.  In  a  notice 
of  the  time  I  find  it  alluded  to  as  "  a  magnificent  piece 
of  acting,  which  fairly  carried  away  her  audience ;  even 
for  a  man  it  is  an  arduous  character,  and  we  had  doubts 
of  the  success  which  would  attend  it ;  but  she  knew  her 
own  powers,  and  commanded  a  great  success.  In  the 
third  act,  in  which  the  Cardinal  falls  from  greatness,  no 
actor  or  actress  on  the  stage  can  equal  her.  She  realized 
to  our  memory  the  palmy  days  of  the  drama,  and  made 
old  play-goers  recall  the  times  of  Cooke,  Kean,  and  Ma- 
cready."     She  spoke  of  it  often,  and  criticised  her  own 


218  CHARLOTTE  CUSHMAN : 

performance  as  fully  and  freely  as  she  would  have  done 
that  of  another  person.  The  chief  difficulty  she  found  in 
it  was  the  necessity  for  keeping  up  to,  and  above,  in  voice, 
bearing,  and  impression,  the  other  male  parts  in  the  play, 
especially  in  the  scene  where  the  fallen  Cardinal  is  baited, 
as  it  were,  by  the  rude  and  triumphant  nobles  who  rejoice 
in  his  discomfiture.  In  this  scene  great  power  is  neces- 
sary to  avoid  being  overborne  by  mere  noise  and  violence, 
and  falling  below  the  moral  level  which  the  Cardinal 
must  maintain  to  be  even  in  ruin  the  "high  Cardinal" 
whom  Shakespeare  drew.  It  may  be  fancied  how  easily 
a  weak  assumption  of  this  part  might  at  this  point  drop 
into  the  contemptible.  Miss  Cushman  confessed  that  she 
held  her  own  with  difficulty ;  but  that  she  did  hold  it, 
there  can  be  no  doubt.  She  looked  the  part  well,  and 
was  in  all  points  of  dress  and  bearing  admirable.  Her 
reading  of  this  part  did  not  fall  below  her  acted  concep- 
tion of  it,  and  possessed  the  value  of  a  higher  interpreta- 
tion through  the  more  delicate  and  subtle  rendering  of 
the  other  characters. 

Although  Miss  Cushman's  special  gifts,  combined  with 
her  noble  presence  and  fine  voice,  adapted  her  most  for 
tragic  parts,  the  lighter  creations  of  comedy  found  in  her 
an  apt  and  capable  interpreter.  It  will  not  be  necessary 
to  recall  to  the  memories  of  this  generation  her  early 
triumphs  in  such  parts  as  Eosalind,  Beatrice,  Juliana, 
Lady  Gay  Spanker,  etc.  In  the  readings,  her  genuine 
and  genial  enjoyment  of  the  minor  humorous  characters 
scattered  all  through  Shakespeare's  plays  will  be  well 
remembered,  as  well  as  many  other  efforts  in  which  the 
light  and  sparkling  wit  of  comedy  widened  and  deepened 
into  the  broadest  and  richest  humor.  There  was  some- 
thing so  infectious  in  her  own  enjoyment  of  the  fun  that 
she  took  her  audience  completely  along  with  her;  the  wave 


HER  LIFE,  LETTERS,  AND   MEMORIES.  219 

of  sympafhy  gathered  them  all  together  into  such  a  genial 
glow  of  enjoyment  and  self-forge tfulness,  that  convention- 
alities were  forgotten,  the  hedges  and  barriers  which  fence 
human  souls  from  one  another  were  thrown  down,  and 
strangers  exchanged  smiles  and  comments,  and  all  felt 
that  some  potent  spell  had  evoked  the  friendliness  from 
the  depths  of  their  hearts,  and  that  they  were  in  some 
new  sense  brethren  in  feeling  and  sympathy. 

This  power  of  creating  an  atmosphere  of  love  and  kind- 
ness about  her,  which  she  exercised  so  fully  in  her  private 
relations,  was  thus  found  capable  of  attaining  a  wider 
scope  and  achieving  a  broader  influence.  She  loved  to 
evoke  this  kind  of  sjnnpathy :  she  worked  for  it  by  an 
instinctive  law  of  her  nature,  and  never  could  be  quite 
satisfied  untO.  she  felt  that  it  was  effected ;  then  how  she 
glowed  and  basked  in  the  reflection  of  her  own  sunshine 
from  the  faces  about  her,  how  she  fed  on  the  emotion  she 
had  herself  elicited,  and  how  by  her  own  large  true- 
heartedness  she  opened  and  widened  and  softened  the 
hearts  of  others. 

Those  readings  which  formed  the  second  part  of  her 
entertainments  may  be  classed  under  the  three  heads, 
of  emotional,  heroic,  and  humorous,  although  she  read 
to  perfection  anything  purely  lyrical,  as,'  for  example, 
the  "  Lady  of  Shalott,"  than  which  a  purer,  sweeter,  more 
harmonious  utterance  never  fell  from  mortal  lips.  Yet 
her  great  force  undoubtedly  lay  in  such  compositions  as 
possessed  a  narrative  and  dramatic  interest;  and  as  the 
needs  of  a  mixed  audience  had  always  to  be  considered 
in  her  selections,  probably  no  one  ever  before  met  so  large 
and  varied  a  demand  as  she  did.  After  the  tragedy, 
ought  by  all  the  laws  of  human  nature  to  come  the  farce ; 
and  the  comic  selection  became  as  indispensable  as  the 
Irish  Bong  after  a  Eoman  reception. 


220  CHARLOTTE   CUSHMAN  : 

Among  her  emotional  readings  may  be  mentioned  "The 
Young  Gray  Head/'  by  Mrs.  Southey ;  a  touching  narra- 
tive poem  which  always  brought  tears  from  her  audience. 
Tennyson's  "Grandmother"  was  another  of  this  class; 
remarkable  for  the  sustained  manner  in  which  she  pre- 
served the  appearance,  voice,  and  accent  of  an  aged  woman, 
who  with  the  garrulity  of  extreme  age  goes  over  and  over 
the  scenes  and  impressions  of  her  youth. 

"  Seventy  years  ago,  Annie, 
Seventy  yeai-s  ago." 

In  marked  contrast  with  this,  yet  with  much  the  same 
sustained  evenness  of  declamation,  whereby  with  masterly 
skill  she  subordinated  her  whole  force  to  the  weird  and 
supernatural  character  of  the  poem,  preserving  its  solem- 
nity and  yet  losing  none  of  its  suppressed  energy,  I 
would  recall  the  remarkable  reading  of  "  The  Skeleton  in 
Armor."  It  might  be  compared  to  a  fine  symphony  of 
Beethoven,  or  the  solemn  funeral  march  of  Chopin;  it  was 
more  musical  than  dramatic,  and  full  of  the  suggestive- 
ness  of  tone  as  well  as  word,  with  the  added  force  of  im- 
personation ;  for,  as  usual,  face  and  form  became  imbued 
with  the  personality  of  the  warlike  apparition. 

"  Then  from  those  cavernous  eyes 
Pale  flashes  seemed  to  rise." 

By  some  power,  known  only  to  herself,  she  took  on  this 
supernatural  aspect.  The  solemn  lines  fell  from  her  lips 
like  deep  reverberations  from  some  distant  funeral  bell,  and 
yet  with  an  undertone,  a  sort  of  suppressed  martial  clang, 
as  if  the  spirit  of  the  old  Viking  still  warmed  to  the  memory 
of  his  warlike  exploits ,  and  when  the  verse  was  reached 
where  he  tells  his  triumph  over  his  pursuers,  — 

"  And,  as  to  catch  the  gale, 
Round  veered  the  flapping  sail, 


HER  LIFE,  LETTERS,  AND  MEMORIES.  221 

Death  !  was  the  helmsman's  hail, 

Death  without  quarter  1 

Midships,  with  iron  keel, 

Struck  we  her  ribs  of  steel, 

Down  her  black  hulk  did  reel 

Through  the  black  water !  '* 

a  sense  of  horror  seemed  to  pass  all  through  the  audience, 
making  "  the  nerves  thrill  and  the  blood  tingle."  Of  the 
same  type,  and  treated  in  the  same  way,  was  Eossetti's 
strange  ballad  of  "Sister  Helen."  Here  also  was  felt 
this  mastery  over  the  nerve-centres  of  her  listeners,  the 
same  instinctive  grasp  of  all  the  subtleties  of  the  poet's 
meaning,  the  same  intense,  sustained,  and  powerful  work- 
ing up,  without  apparent  effort,  to  an  artistic  climax,  of 
which  not  many  were  capable  of  realizing  the  full  force 
until  they  felt  it  in  their  nerves  and  blood,  and  then  they 
hardly  knew  what  had  so  thrilled  them. 

Great  as  was  Miss  Cushman's  rendering  of  this  class 
of  subjects,  there  was  still  another  field  where  her  genius 
shone  with  a  more  resplendent  lustre  and  produced  still 
more  marked  effects.  This  was  in  the  rendering  of  the 
heroic  ballads  of  Macaulay,  Tennyson,  and  Browning.  It 
would  be  difficult  for  any  pen  to  do  justice  to  this  theme, 
still  more  one  so  inexperienced.  In  "  The  Battle  of  Ivry," 
for  example,  wherein  seems  concentrated  in  one  blazing 
sheaf  all  the  martial  and  religious  fervor  of  the  time,  it 
would  seem  impossible  to  give  the  faintest  idea  of  the 
impulse,  the  enthusiasm,  the  chivalric  loyalty,  the  mar- 
tial energy  which  Miss  Cushman  imparted  to  the  lines,  — 
the  rush  and  hurry  of  the  battle,  the  shifting  tumult  of 
the  strife,  the  valor  and  clemency  of  Henry,  and,  through 
all  and  dominating  all,  the  deep,  fervid,  passionate  devo- 
tion to  God  and  king. 

*'  Now  glory  to  the  Lord  of  Hosts,  from  whom  all  glories  are, 
And  glory  to  our  sovereign  liege,  King  Henry  of  Navarre." 


222  CHARLOTTE   CUSHMAN : 

All  this  is  in  the  poem,  but  sleeping,  as  it  were,  until 
evoked  by  the  master  spell  of  an  interpreting  genius. 

"  The  Charge  of  the  Light  Brigade,"  by  Tennyson,  and 
Browning's  masterly  poem,  "  How  they  brought  the  good 
News  from  Ghent  to  Aix,"  were  brilliant  examples  of  the 
same  kind.  Macaulay's  noble  poem  of  "  Horatius  "  was  a 
more  varied  and  sustained  effort,  but  full  of  the  same 
fervid  quality.  In  all  these  Miss  Cushman  found  space 
and  room  for  the  exercise  of  her  highest  and  strongest 
powers ;  but  concentrated  force,  sustained  energy,  mas- 
terly elocution,  though  great  factors  in  the  general  result, 
would  have  been  as  nothing,  unless  infused  and  welded 
together,  as  it  were,  by  the  earnest  enthusiasm,  the  deep 
spiritual  force  of  her  nature,  feeling  and  interpreting 
whatever  of  highest  and  noblest  and  best  lay  underneath 
the  heroic  lines ;  so  in  each  and  every  manifestation  of 
herself  on  the  stage,  on  the  platform,  or  in  private  life, 
she  touched  the  heart ;  and  this  was  the  secret,  if  secret 
it  may  be  called,  of  all  her  influence  and  of  all  her  success. 
In  one  sense  she  was  an  interpreter  of  the  thoughts  of 
others ;  in  another  she  was  a  creator,  inasmuch  as  she 
made  them  live  doubly  and  trebly  in  the  minds  of  others, 
to  whom,  but  for  her,  they  might  have  been  as  sealed 
fountains. 

One  more  of  these  heroic  themes  remains  to  be  noted. 
In  the  quaint  ballad  of  "  Herve  Eiel "  Browning  has  not 
more  skilfully  told  the  story  of  a  simple  act  of  disinter- 
ested heroism  than  Miss  Cushman  has  made  it  live  and 
move  and  breathe  before  her  audience.  One  saw  the 
honest  sailor  so  quietly  and  so  simply  acting  his  great 
part,  so  calmly  and  so  bravely  ignoring  that  he  had  done 
anything  worthy  of  reward,  so  contentedly  and  gladly  ask- 
ing and  receiving  the  poor  guerdon  of  a  holiday  to  be 
spent  with  his  wife  on  shore  :  — 


HER  LIFE,  LETTERS,  AND  MEMORIES.  223 

"  *  Since  't  is  ask  and  have,  I  may  ; 
Since  the  others  go  ashore,  — 
Come  !     A  good,  whole  holiday  ! 
Leave  to  go  and  see  my  wife, 

Whom  I  call  the  Belle  Aurora  !  * 
That  he  asked  and  that  he  got  — 
Nothing  more." 

Miss  Cusliman's  readings  of  Browning  were  especially 
fine,  and  would  have  delighted  that  impetuous  and  subtle 
genius,  could  he  have  heard  them.  The  ruggedness  and 
roughness  of  the  metre  were  lost  sight  of  in  her  vigorous 
declamation,  for  she  declaimed  rather  than  recited  them. 
All  obscurities  of  diction  and  involutions  of  thought  be- 
came unravelled  as  if  by  magic,  and  the  full  force  of  the 
poet's  meaning  flashed  out  with  a  new  and  intense  light. 
She  was  very  fond  of  reading  Browning  in  private  to 
chosen  listeners,  and  she  dearly  loved  Mrs.  Browning's 
poetry.  During  her  Eoman  days  she  delighted  many 
with  "  Casa  Guidi  Windows "  and  afterwards,  it  will  be 
remembered,  she  introduced  parts  of  this  beautiful  poem 
into  a  reading  called  "  Eoman  Pilgrims,"  wherein  was  em- 
bodied some  of  the  poetical  inspirations  to  which  Eome 
and  Italy  had  given  birth. 

Some  of  Miss  Cushman's  finest  readings  were  of  what 
are  called  "dialect  poems,"  a  department  in  which  she 
was  quite  unrivalled.  Who  could  ever  forget,  for  exam- 
ple, her  reading  of  "  The  Death  of  the  Old  Squire,"  a  sim- 
ple, homely,  but  terrible  picture,  or,  rather,  a  tableau  vi- 
vant  over  which  shifts  and  changes  the  shadow  of  a  fear- 
ful catastrophe.  All  of  her  readings  were  of  the  nature 
of  pictures,  full  of  the  subtlest  lights  and  shades  and  the 
most  wonderful  suggestiveness,  presented  with  a  vividness 
of  local  coloring  which  compelled  the  mind  to  a  full  reali- 
zation of  the  scene  which  lived  and  moved  before  it. 

Of  none  of  these  can  this  be  said  more  truly  than  of 


224  CHARLOTTE  CUSHMAN  ; 

this  "  Death  of  the  Old  Squire,"  and  in  none  did  she  feel 
herself  more  thoroughly  at  home.  With  what  vigor  and 
truth  she  painted  in  the  rough,  quaint  language  of  the 
old  servant, — 

**  The  wild,  mad  kind  of  a  night,  as  black  as  the  bottomless  pit " ; 
the  wind,  the  rain,  — 

**  (Well,  it  did  rain),  dashing  the  window  glass 
And  deluging  on  the  roof,  as  the  Devil  were  coming  to  pass  " ; 

The  stable  and  its  occupants,  — 

*'  Huddlin'  in  the  harness-room,  by  a  little  scrap  o'  fire," 

striving  to  keep  up  their  spirits 

*•  A-practising  for  the  choir  *' ; 

while  the  old  squire  lay  dying  in  the  house,  and  the  super- 
stitions of  their  class  and  country  fill  them  with  a  sense 
of  hovering  evil,  and  make  every  sound  and  movement 
ominous  and  terrible. 

**  "We  could  not  hear  Death's  foot  pass  by,  but  we  knew  that  he  was  near; 
And  the  chill  rain,  and  the  wind  and  cold,  made  us  all  shake  wi'  fear." 

This  picture  was  complete.  Then  follows  another,  in 
which  the  life  of  the  old  squire  is  lightly  drawn  from  the 
huntsman's  point  of  view,  —  a  fair  portrait  of  a  fox-hunt- 
ing squire  of  the  period,  rounded  with  a  sort  of  rough  ten- 
derness, and  touching  upon  those  points  in  his  character 
which  would  lead  up  naturally  to  the  final  catastrophe. 
Meanwhile  there  has  come  a  lull  in  the  storm,  the  wind 
has  gone  down,  the  rain  ceases,  — 

"The  moon  was  up  quite  glorious-like." 

Prom  this  point  the  poem  is  one  mad,  wild  rush  to  the 
conclusion.  Suddenly,  in  the  hush  of  midnight,  the  rusty 
turret-bell,  which  has  not  been  heard  for  twenty  years. 


HER  LIFE,  LETTERS,  AND  MEMORIES.  225 

clangs  and  clashes  out,  and,  as  they  all  hurry  forth,  the 
dying  master  meets  them  face  to  face. 

*'  His  scarlet  coat  was  on  his  back,  and  he  looked  like  the  old  race." 

In  the  delirium  of  fever  he  orders  out  his  horse,  summons 
his  dogs.     All  obey  him  without  question,  for 

**  There  was  a  devil  in  his  eye  that  would  not  let  us  speak," 

and  he  rides  away  on  his  last  hunt,  followed  by  the 
amazed  and  horror-stricken  servants.  He  rides  to  his 
death,  and  the  old  servant  says, — 

•'We  pulled  up  on  Chalk  Lynton  Hill,  and  as  we  stood  us  there, 

Two  fields  beyond  we  saw  the  ould  squire  fall  stone  dead  from  the 

mare  ; 
Then  she  swept  on  and,  in  full  cry,  the  hounds  went  out  of  sight. 
A  cloud  came  over  the  broad  moon,  and  something  dimmed  our  sight, 
As  Tom  and  I  bore  master  home,  both  speaking  under  breath. 
And  that 's  the  way  /  saw  the  ould  squire  ride  boldly  to  his  death." 

This  synopsis  of  the  poem,  which  is  an  anonymous 
one,  may  give  to  those  who  never  heard  it  read  a  faint 
glimpse  of  its  capabilities  as  interpreted  by  Miss  Cush- 
man.  In  none  of  her  readings  was  there  a  finer  oppor- 
tunity for  her  varied  and  versatile  powers,  in  none  such  a 
masterly  mingling  of  the  natural  and  the  terrible,  of  the 
simple  and  the  sublime  ;  the  whole  heightened,  instead  of 
injured,  as  is  too  often  the  case,  by  the  use  of  dialect, 
which  with  her  was  so  dealt  with  as  only  to  add  a  new 
element  of  truthfulness  and  interest  to  the  picture.  This 
may  be  said  also  with  reference  to  any  dialect  which  she 
attempted.  In  her  mouth  it  became  natural  and  easy,  and 
never  made  any  impression  of  incongruity.  In  Burns's 
famous  lines,  for  example,  "  A  Man  's  a  Man  for  a'  That," 
who  would  recognize  it  without  its  canny  Scotch  accent, 
or  who  would  wish  to  hear  it  with  that  accent  imperfectly 
rendered!     The  genuine,  hearty  enthusiasm  with  which 


226  CHARLOTTE  CUSHMAN : 

Miss  Cushmaii  felt  and  delivered  this  noble,  manly  utter- 
ance, was  positively  infectious,  and  carried  her  audience 
by  storm.  Every  man  was  more  a  man  who  listened  to 
it,  and  the  better  for  that  momentary  lifting  into  a  purer 
and  better  air.  The  wondrously  varied  intonation  which 
she  managed  to  impart  to  the  refrain,  "  For  a'  that,  and  a* 
that,"  was  not  the  least  remarkable  part  of  this  remark- 
able performance. 

To  the  humorous  readings,  which  wound  up  these  pro- 
grammes and  sent  everybody  away  the  better  and  lighter 
and  happier  for  having  been  beguiled  of  a  hearty  laugh, 
the  same  or  even  fuller  meed  of  praise  is  due.  In  this, 
as  in  all  she  did,  she  touched  "  the  high  top-gallant "  of 
her  powers ;  into  this,  even  more  than  into  the  rest,  she 
threw  herself  with  that  full  completeness  and  self-aban- 
don which  was  her  great  secret.  Of  this  class  of  subjects 
I  need  only  particularize  a  few :  "  Betsy  and  I  are  out," 
"Miss  Maloney  on  the  Chinese  Question,"  "The  Annuity," 
and  "  The  Bapteesement  o'  the  Bairn,"  though  the  two 
latter  might  perhaps  come  more  appropriately  under  the 
head  of  "  Dialect  Poems."  Of  these, "  Betsy  and  I  are 
out "  was  a  peculiar  favorite.  From  the  moment  she 
begins  slowly  to  draw  off  her  gloves,  and  take  the  action 
and  attitude  of  the  honest,  tender-hearted,  obstinate  old 
farmer,  she  seems  to  have  a  realizing  sense  of  how  such 
a  man  would  act  and  speak  and  look  under  the  circum- 
stances. She  creates  the  lawyer  sitting  opposite.  She 
makes  every  one  feel  how  they  acted  upon  one  another. 
She  projects  the  absent  Betsy  upon  the  field  of  our  con- 
sciousness. We  know  and  see  them  all  far  more  truly  and 
really,  because  more  subtly,  than  if  they  lived  before  us. 
This  seems  a  paradox,  and  yet  it  touches  a  high  truth. 
Her  conceptions  were  beyond  reality,  because  they  were 
idealizations,  which  is  the   highest  reality.     There  was 


HER  LIFE,  LETTERS,  AND  MEMORIES.  227 

mucli  more  in  this  ballad  in  her  hands  than  its  writer 
ever  conceived  of,  as  he  himself  acknowledged  when  he 
came  to  see  her  on  one  of  her  Western  journeys,  and 
thanked  her  for  all  she  had  done  for  him  in  her  reading 
of  his  lines.  The  same  occurred  with  the  authoress  of 
"  Miss  Maloney  on  the  Chinese  Question."  Mrs.  Dodge 
said,  "  Miss  Cushman,  I  never  dreamed  what  was  in  it, 
until  I  heard  you  read  it."  And  Miss  Woolson,  the 
writer  of  "Kentucky  Belle,"  which  was  one  of  Miss 
Cushman's  most  effective  readings,  wrote  to  her  to  the 
same  effect  from  the  South :  — 

"Last  spring,  while  at  St.  Augustine,  I  received  from  New 
York  the  programme  of  your  Reading  at  the  Academy  of  Mu- 
sic, and  w^as  equally  surprised  and  pleased  to  find  among  the 
announcements  *  Kentucky  Belle.'  Ever  since,  I  have  wished 
to  thank  you  for  the  honor,  to  tell  you  how  much  real  pleas- 
ure it  gave  me. 

"  It  was  little  to  you,  Miss  Cushman,  but  a  great  deal  to 
rae,  and  I  thank  you.  It  is  not  quite  four  years  since  I  began 
to  write,  and  in  that  time  nothing  connected  with  the  work 
has  given  me  so  much  pleasure  as  this." 

She  had,  beside,  many  choice  bits,  not  suitable  in  length 
or  scope  for  the  platform,  but  reserved  for  a  happy  mo- 
ment to  enliven  the  social  circle.  Many  of  these  she 
kept  in  her  pocket,  and  would  produce  on  occasion,  with 
a  gleeful  twinkle  in  her  eye  which  she  soon  transferred  to 
those  of  her  listeners.  She  was  indeed  largely  in  sym- 
pathy with  joy,  and  whatever  led  to  it,  and  she  fairly 
revelled  in  the  effects  she  produced,  when  she  opened 
this  special  door  to  her  hearers'  hearts,  and  saw  and  felt 
her  influence  in  their  brightening  faces.  She  may  be 
said  to  have  been  an  opener  of  many  doors  into  the  inner- 
most of  human  nature,  bringing  forth  tears  and  smiles  at 
her  pleasure,  and  weaving  a  spell  which  for  the  moment 


228  CHARLOTTE  CUSHMAN. 

at  least  brought  all  hearts  to  a  higher  level  and  touched 
them  as  with  lire  from  the  altar  of  her  own  fervid  spirit. 
Besides  the  readings  which  came  under  these  various 
heads,  were  many  miscellaneous  and  some  religious  ones. 
These  last  she  delivered  with  grand  simplicity  and  fervor; 
and  it  was  her  intention,  had  her  life  been  spared,  to  make 
of  them  a  special  feature  in  her  programmes.  I  find  in 
one  of  her  letters  an  allusion  to  a  poem  of  this  class, 
which  she  read  sometimes  in  private,  and  the  effect  of  it 
was  much  like  her  singing  of  sacred  compositions. 

"  0,  if  you  knew,"  she  writes,  "  what  pleasure  I  have  had  in 
reading  aloud  '  The  Celestial  Country,'  that  grand  old  poem  of 
Bernard  de  Cluny,  which  is  translated  from  the  Latin,  and  is 
in  that  book  you  sent  me  at  Christmas!  It  i)erformed  as 
much  work  in  its  time  as  Luther's  Reformation,  only  the  one 
was  silent  and  the  other  outward.  It  is  like  a  bell,  which 
rings  and  clangs  and  calls  and  cheers !  I  never  read  any- 
thing like  it." 

In  all  the  range  of  her  readings,  a  noble  simplicity  and 
directness  of  method,  the  absence  of  the  faintest  shadow 
of  affectation,  and  an  artistic  completeness  of  conception 
and  execution  beyond  praise,  place  these  performances 
on  the  highest  level  of  contemporary  art ;  but  above  and 
beyond  all  this  there  is  a  still  greater  excellence,  a  still 
higher  spiritual  significance.  An  old  friend  has  well  said 
of  her  in  certain  reminiscences  of  her  early  life,  "the 
feet,  never  in  fear  or  shame  afraid  to  follow  the  dictate 
of  the  heart";  so  in  her  later  years,  not  the  feet  only,  but 
the  whole  nature,  went  forth  rich  and  strong  in  all  its 
varied  manifestations,  but  always  more  earnestly,  more 
truly,  more  grandly,  in  the  direction  of  the  best  and 
highest. 


w 

^^^^B 

i 

^^^rm^Mk^^ 

CHAPTER  XI. 

LAST  FIVE  YEARS. 

*'He  's  truly  valiant  that  can  truly  suffer." 

Timan  of  Athens. 
"  Nothing  in  his  life  became  him  like  the  leaving  of  it." 

Macbeth. 

was  in  the  spring  of  1869  that  Miss  Cush- 
man's  malady  first  made  its  appearance.  It 
seemed  trifling,  and  upon  consultation  with  the 
best  physicians  of  Eome  she  was  advised  to  go  to  certain 
German  baths,  which  were  said  to  be  of  great  efficacy  in 
such  disorders.  Fearing  delay,  however,  she  determined 
to  go  to  Paris  for  further  advice.  There  she  was  earnestly 
recommended  by  Dr.  Sims  to  do  nothing,  to  live  well, 
take  care  of  her  general  health,  amuse  herself,  and  forget 
the  trouble  if  possible.  It  is  to  be  deeply  regretted  that 
this  excellent  advice  could  not  have  been  followed ;  but 
it  was  impossible  for  her  to  sit  still  under  the  thought 
that  she  might  be  helped  by  quicker  means  to  an  entire 
relief,  and  her  remembrance  that  it  was  an  inheritance  in 
her  family  would  not  permit  her  to  treat  it  lightly.  Her 
resource  was  always  in  action.  She  went  over  to  Eng- 
land and  consulted  Sir  James  Paget,  then  the  highest 
name  in  the  profession.  His  opinion  was  decidedly  in 
favor  of  "heroic  treatment."  She,  however,  determined 
to  make  one  more  effort  to  avoid  this  necessity,  and  went 


230  CHARLOTTE   CUSHMAN : 

for  a  time  to  Malvern,  where  in  connection  with  water- 
treatment  she  tried  certain  remedies  which  had  been  sug- 
gested  to  her,  with  a  view  of  dispersing  the  tumor.  This, 
however,  proved  useless,  and  on  the  18th  of  August  she 
went  to  Edinburgh,  to  place  herself  under  the  care  of  Sir 
James  Simpson,  whom  she  knew  well,  and  for  whom  she 
had  a  great  esteem.  He,  in  connection  with  Dr.  Spence, 
the  head  of  the  Eoyal  College  of  Surgeons,  decided  upon 
an  operation,  and  this  sad  and  painful  event  took  place 
on  the  26th. 

It  was  apparently  very  successful,  but  was  speedily 
followed  by  a  series  of  very  dangerous  complications,  and 
for  a  time  Miss  Cushman  seemed  to  hover  between  life 
and  death.  Finally,  however,  her  good  constitution  and 
careful  nursing  brought  her  round ;  she  rallied,  and  it 
was  supposed  and  believed  that  the  danger  was  effectually 
removed. 

Toward  the  end  of  October  she  was  sufficiently  re- 
stored to  be  enabled  to  leave  Edinburgh,  and  after  a  short 
stay  at  Malvern,  for  general  restorative  treatment,  to  start 
again  for  Eome  on  the  23d  of  November ;  but  she  was 
weakened  generally  by  the  long  and  serious  illness,  and 
in  the  course  of  the  winter  it  became  evident  that  the 
evil  was  not  entirely  eradicated. 

In  the  spring  of  1870  the  trouble  again  made  its  ap- 
pearance. She  left  Eome  on  May  23d,  going  by  way  of 
Venice  and  Munich  to  Paris,  and  from  thence  to  England, 
where  she  again  consulted  Paget,  and  with  some  difficulty 
got  his  consent  to  further  efforts  for  relief  by  another 
process  of  "  heroic  treatment,"  severer  and  more  painful 
than  the  first,  but  less  dangerous,  namely,  excision  by 
caustic.  This  terrible  process  she  underwent  with  her 
usual  firm  courage  at  Hampstead,  at  the  house  of  dear 
and  valued  friends,  during  the  month  of  June.     For  a 


HER  LIFE,  LETTEES,  AND   MEMOEIES.  231 

time  this  also  was  supposed  to  be  successful;  healing 
took  place  rapidly,  her  general  health  improved,  and  all 
seemed  going  on  well.  She  went  again  to  Malvern ;  but 
"the  snake  w^as  only  scotched,  not  killed,"  and  the  return 
of  unfavorable  symptoms  induced  her  to  make  up  her 
mind  to  return  finally  to  America. 

On  the  22d  of  October,  1870,  Miss  Cushman  sailed 
from  Liverpool  in  the  Scotia,  on  her  last  voyage  to  Amer- 
ica. The  Koman  home  was  abandoned  to  the  tender 
mercies  of  tenants.  All  knew,  though  no  one  ever  said 
so,  that  they  might  never  see  it  again.  It  was  not  untQ 
1874  that  it  was  finally  broken  up,  and  all  its  artistic 
contents  transported  to  this  country.  These  were  so 
many  and  various,  that  it  has  only  been  since  her  death 
they  have  all  been  opened  and  distributed,  and  this  only 
through  a  large  addition  having  been  made  to  the  Villa, 
which  before  this  could  not  contain  them  all.  The  Villa 
is  now  a  most  interesting  and  valuable  record  of  her  career, 
full  of  associations  and  remembrances,  and  held  sacredly 
and  reverently  as  such  in  the  hearts  of  its  present  pos- 
sessors. It  is  her  real  monument,  which  she  herself 
created  and  adorned,  where  she  yet  speaks  the  noble 
lessons  of  her  life  through  the  subtle  spiritual  essence 
which  breathes  from  every  object  she  knew  and  loved. 
It  is  as  sadly  full  of  her  now  as  it  was  when  her  sweet 
presence  filled  it  with  light  and  joy,  and  the  potent  force 
of  her  great  personality  pervades  every  material  object 
with  a  strength  which  only  such  living  presence  as  hers 
could  leave  behind. 

The  monument  in  contemplation  at  Mount  Auburn, 
which  only  unavoidable  circumstances  have  delayed,  will 
be  but  an  expression  to  the  world  at  large  of  a  great  soul 
departed ;  but  to  the  hearts  of  those  who  knew  her  in  the 
genial  and  loving  atmosphere  of  her  home,  the  ViUa  must 
be  her  best  monument. 


232  CHARLOTTE  CUSHMAN : 

She  came  home  to  America  to  make  a  last  struggle  for 
her  life,  and,  failing  that  hope,  to  make  what  remained 
of  it  as  useful  and  valuable  to  herself  and  others  as  lay- 
within  the  bounds  of  her  possibilities.  It  has  been  al- 
ready shown  how  thoroughly  she  carried  out  this  deter- 
mination. The  progress  of  her  fatal  malady,  though  sure, 
was  slow.  She  had  an  originally  powerful  constitution 
and  a  most  indomitable  courage  to  fall  back  upon,  and 
these  sustained  her  almost  to  the  last  moment.  The 
mere  record  of  what  she  accomplished  during  these  last 
years  would  seem  incredible,  and  did  indeed  lead  many 
to  the  belief  that  no  serious  ailment  could  exist.  In 
spite  of  themselves,  it  also  buoyed  up  the  hopes  of  those 
surrounding  her ;  it  almost  seemed  as  if  a  miracle  might 
be  wrought  in  favor  of  one  who  knew  how  to  hold  and 
use  life  with  such  power,  who  seemed  as  it  were  to  defy 
the  ordinary  conditions  of  humanity.  Very  few  who  saw 
Miss  Cushman  act,  or  heard  her  read,  during  these  years 
could  at  aU  realize  her  condition,  she  rose  so  entirely 
above  and  beyond  it ;  and  yet  it  was  such  that  no  medi- 
cal authority  would  venture  upon  any  hopeful  auguries. 
To  lengthen  life  as  long  as  possible  by  careful  living  and 
judicious  treatment  was  the  utmost  to  be  attained,  and 
for  a  long  time  the  disease  seemed  to  be  held  in  abey- 
ance by  these  means.  She  always  regretted  that  she 
gave  up  this  generous  system  of  treatment  for  hope  of 
benefit  from  the  water-cure,  which  was  much  urged 
upon  her  by  friends,  one  of  the  first  requisites  of  which 
is  to  lower  the  system.  These  matters  are,  however, 
beyond  the  scope  of  discussion  here ;  in  some  respects 
she  did  derive  benefit  from  the  water-cure,  and  who  can 
tell  how  much  it  may  not  have  saved  her  of  suffering  ? 
At  any  rate,  with  her  usual  firmness,  having  undertaken 
it,  she  gave  it  a  fair  trial     She  was  not  one  to  surrender 


HER  LIFE,  LETTERS,  AND  MEMORIES.  233 

SO  long  as  there  remained  even  a  faint  hope  of  help  ;  and 
for  the  sake  of  all  who  loved  her  she  never  remitted  her 
efforts,  and  tried  to  cherish  hope  for  herself,  as  well 
knowing  how  her  despair  would  darken  and  depress 
their  lives.  So,  as  I  have  said,  perhaps  too  often  in  this 
memoir,  in  this  also  she  gave  herself  for  others ;  she  lived 
to  the  very  utmost,  that  they  might  not  despair ;  and  it 
was  a  daily  and  hourly  study,  amid  all  that  she  had  to 
contend  with  of  pain  and  discouragement,  to  see  and  feel 
how  truly  she  lived  up  to  this  thought,  never,  or  rarely, 
descending  into  the  inevitable  depths  which  belong  to  our 
human  nature,  and  from  which  not  even  the  strongest  can 
wholly  escape.  So  powerful  and  so  sustaining  was  this 
attitude  on  her  part,  that  when  she  for  a  moment  gave 
way,  the  world  seemed  to  be  coming  to  an  end,  to  the 
faithful  and  devoted  group  who  ministered  to  her;  and 
when  the  sad  moment  of  surrender  at  last  came,  it  struck 
them  all  with  the  suddenness  of  a  blow  which  had  been 
slowly  gathering  force  during  six  years  of  suspense, 
anxiety,  and  intense  tension  of  soul  and  body. 

The  record  of  Miss  Cushman's  achievements  during 
these  last  years  is  simply  marvellous  when  we  consider 
her  rapid  movements  from  place  to  place,  the  miles  of 
railway  travel  she  undertook,  and  the  amount  of  work 
she  performed  under  conditions  so  unfavorable.  It  was 
a  grand,  and  yet  a  painful  contemplation ;  for  she  threw 
herself  into  it  with  a  steady  and  persistent  purpose, 
knowing  well  that  such  an  amount  of  overwork  must 
wear  out  her  forces  sooner,  yet  content  that  the  machine 
should  wear  rather  than  rust  out,  and  finding  in  the 
exercise  of  her  powers  a  satisfaction  and  content  which 
seemed  to  more  than  repay  her  for  the  effort. 

The  autumn  and  winter  of  1870  she  passed  in  va- 
rious places,  trying  what  help  might  come  from  her  native 


234  CHAKLOTTE   CUSHMAN : 

air ;  up  to  the  11th  of  January  she  was  at  Hyde  Park, 
on  the  Hudson,  enjoying  immensely  the  winter  in  the 
country,  and  taking  long  walks  and  drives,  full  of  appar- 
ant  strength  and  energy.  She  went  also  to  Newport,  with 
a  view  of  trying  that  climate  as  a  winter  residence,  having 
heard  that  it  was  milder  than  other  places,  and  in  many 
respects  like  the  climate  of  England.  It  was  after  this 
visit  she  conceived  the  idea  of  building  there ;  and  she 
shortly  entered  into  negotiations  for  the  purchase  of  a 
site,  and  the  erection  of  the  home  now  so  well  known  and 
so  much  admired.  Her  subsequent  determination  to  work 
the  better  part  of  the  year  left  it  often  tenantless ;  but 
she  returned  to  it  whenever  she  could,  even  for  a  time, 
with  delight,  and  had  much  comfort  and  satisfaction  in 
it,  practising  there,  as  everywhere,  the  pleasant  duties  of 
hospitality  to  its  utmost  capacity. 

In  one  of  her  letters  of  this  year,  speaking  of  her  state, 
she  writes :  — 

"  I  am  waiting ;  seeking  all  simple  aids  that  can  palliate 
my  trouble ;  avoiding  all  things  that  can  fatigue  me ;  leading, 
for  the  most  part  and  for  the  first  time  in  my  life,  an  idle 
existence.  But  I  hope,  with  God's  help,  not  a  useless  one  for 
all  that ;  for  in  trying  to  train  myself  to  patience  perhaps  I 
am  helping  those  who  love  me  and  suffer  with  me." 

Shortly   after,   speaking  of    her    Newport  home,  she 


"  My  house  is  pretty,  and  much  admired  ;  it  is  comfortable ; 
but  I  am  not  going  to  test  its  merits  this  winter,  for  my  doc- 
tor wishes  me  to  work  again,  as  he  considers  that  change  of 
scene,  air,  and  occupation  are  desirable  for  me.  I  leave  my 
home  early  in  the  autumn,  to  wander  for  a  couple  of  months, 
not  far  away  from  it,  and  in  the  New  England  towns.  Early 
in  December  I  go  to  the  West  for  a  couple  of  months,  and 
then  perhaps  to  the  South  for  a  couple  more,  after  which,  if 


HER  LIFE,  LETTERS,  AND   MEMORIES.  235 

all  goes  well  with  me,  I  may  undertake  the  journey  to  Cali- 
fornia. You  see  I  must  be  pretty  well,  or  I  should  be  unable 
to  look  forward  with  such  a  hopeful  soul  to  such  work  and 
change  as  I  do." 

In  pursuance  of  these  projects,  we  find  her  busy  in 
various  places.  On  December  22d  we  have  a  pleasant 
letter  from  Brattleborough,  Vermont. 

"  You  will  hold  up  your  hands  in  wonder  when  you  see 
where  I  am,  and  know  of  the  cold,  cold  weather,  —  thermome- 
ter 10°  below  zero  !  I  assure  you  I  am  amazed  at  myself;  but 
while  the  weather  in  Boston  was  in  a  mild  and  serene  state, 
they  made  application  to  me  to  come  up  here  for  a  reading. 
I  was  stupid  or  sanguine  (they  both  mean  the  same  thing 
when  one  acts  without  calculation)  enough  to  forget  that 
Christmas  of  1871  might  be  colder  than  Christmas  of  1870,  and 
made  the  engagement  to  come  here  on  the  2 2d ;  and  so,  though 
my  reading  at  Providence  on  Monday  gave  me  a  taste  of  Nova 
Zembla,  and  my  journey  of  Tuesday  to  New  Haven  increased 
my  knowledge  of  possibilities,  which  Wednesday  night's  experi- 
ence at  the  Music  Hall  at  New  Haven  ripened  into  shivering 
certainties,  yet  I  was  not  prepared  for  yesterday's  journey. 
Arrived  earlier  than  I  w^as  expected  by  a  day,  for  I  had  not 
had  time  to  give  warning ;  of  course  I  had  to  come  up  in 
the  village  sleigh,  a  one-story  house  on  runners,  with  the  win- 
dows too  high  to  see  out  of.  I  felt  as  if  I  was  an  exile  on  my 
way  to  Siberia,  in  the  prisoner's  van  or  *  black  Maria.'  I 
foimd  my  manager  was  an  apothecary,  and  in  the  midst  of  a 
prescription  when  I  drove  up.  He  rushed  out,  covered  with 
confusion  as  with  a  garment,  making  many  apologies  for  not 
having  been  waiting  for  me.  (How  could  he,  when  he  did  not 
know  I  would  be  so  rash  as  to  take  one  day  for  travelling  and 
another  for  reading?  Readers  and  lecturers  are  generally 
more  economical  of  time  and  means.)  He  directed  the  driver 
what  to  do  with  me,  and  he  landed  us  at  the  Park  House,  a 
summer  house,  where  we  are  the  only  visitors  !    We  are  oppo- 


236  CHAELOTTE  CUSHMAN  : 

site  the  Park,  on  what  seems  to  be  the  main  road  out  of  the 
village,  and  opposite  us,  on  the  other  side,  also  facing  the 
Park,  stands  the  '  Insane  Asylum.'  When  they  pointed  out 
this  building  to  me  with  some  pride,  I  exclaimed,  '  Ah,  that 
is  the  house  I  ought  to  have  been  taken  to.'  The  good  simple 
people,  not  understanding  the  poor  little  '  bit  of  wit,  picked 
out  of  a  profane  stage  play,'  turned  and  looked  at  me  with  a 
strange  sort  of  inquiring  wonder,  that  was  perfectly  refresh- 
ing after  Boston  and  its  realisms  and  realities  !  Well,  the 
master  of  the  house,  after  hearing  what  I  wanted  for  supper, 
jumped  into  a  sleigh  and  rushed  (2.30)  down  to  the  village, 
and  brought  me  back  a  steak  worthy  of  Paris  and  Souchong 
tea  worthy  of  London.  We  were  very  tired  and  parched  and 
frozen,  and  by  the  time  it  was  ready  we  were  thawed  out  and 
able  to  thoroughly  enjoy  it.  Then  I  was  too  tired  for  any- 
thing but  bed  ;  had  forty  blankets  and  a  good  fire  ;  but  in  the 
night  the  fire  went  out,  the  blankets  lost  their  power,  and  I 
did  not  dare  to  put  my  hand  out  of  bed  to  pull  up  the  other 
forty  blankets  which  Sallie's  provident  care  had  piled  up  at 
the  side  of  me.  But  morning  came,  and  with  it  a  woman 
whose  activity  and  briskness  made  the  blood  jump  in  me,  and 
I  was  warm  before  the  fire  was  made.  And  now  here  I  am, 
writing  this  to  you  in  bed,  where  I  have  had  my  breakfast, 
and  within  three  feet  of  a  stove  !     You  will  want  to  hear 

something  about  my  readings.     When  I  tell  you  that  E 

was  in  a  state  of  '  wonder,  love,  and  praise,*  you  will  believe  I 
read  well.  She  said,  *  You  walked  up  on  to  the  platform  as  if 
you  had  never  done  anything  else  in  all  your  life,  and  had  de- 
voted your  whole  mind  to  it.'  Sallie  said,  *  I  expected  nothing 
but  to  see  you  die  at  the  end  ;  it  was  so  perfect.'  * 

"  I  leave  here  at  8.40  for  Springfield  ;  then  to  Albany ;  and 
from  there  to  Hyde  Park,  for  a  rest.  On  the  3d  January  I 
get  back  to  Boston,  for  readings  on  the  4th,  6th,  and  8th." 

It  was  not  until  September,  1871,  that  she  made  her 
*  This  was  the  first  reading  at  Providence,  to  which  she  is  alluding. 


HER  LIFE,  LETTERS,  AND  MEMORIES.  237 

first  engagement  to  act  at  Booth's  Theatre,  New  York. 
The  newspaper  notices  of  the  time  speak  of  this  return 
to  the  stage  in  a  tone  of  respect,  almost  of  reverence,  most 
unusual  with  the  free  lances  of  the  press.  All  seemed  to 
feel  that  it  was  that  brightening  up  of  the  flame  which 
precedes  its  final  extinction. 

The  engagement  was  a  highly  successful  one,*  and  was 
followed  by  another  in  Boston.i"  It  was  during  this 
visit  that  the  honor  was  paid  her  of  naming  the  public 
school  which  had  been  erected  on  the  site  of  her  birth- 
place "  The  Cushman  School,"  and  a  very  interesting 
ceremony  took  place  on  the  occasion,  which  will  per- 
haps be  best  described  in  her  own  w^ords.  In  a  letter 
to  a  friend  in  England,  dated  December  31,  1871,  she 
writes :  — 

"  Your  letter  should  have  been  acknowledged  long  ere  this, 
but  I  have  been  the  very  busiest  and  hardest  worked  human 
being  you  ever  knew  for  these  last  thirteen  weeks.  I  do  not 
remember  even  in  ray  youngest  days  ever  to  have  accomplished 
so  much,  for  then  I  had  only  my  profession,  and  no  society 


*  The  receipts  for  forty-two  nights  amounting  to  $  57,000. 

+  A  friend  writes  of  this  Boston  engagement  :  "  I  can  only  tell  you, 
what  you  no  doubt  hear  from  other  quarters,  that  she  is  iierfcctly  splen- 
did, and  seems  to  find  only  strength  in  the  fatigues  of  her  profession.  It 
is  hard  to  believe  that  there  is  anything  wrong  with  her,  seeing  how  she 
looks  now,  after  all  she  has  done  lately.  Last  night,  after  two  perform- 
ances of  Macbeth  (afternoon  and  evening),  I  went  behind  the  scenes  to 
her  dressing-room,  on  my  way  walking  behind  poor  Macbeth,  who  had 
just  come  off  from  his  dying  scene,  and  a  more  dilapidated  object  it 
would  be  hard  to  find,  —  stumbling,  tottering,  and  groaning,  like  a  rheu- 
matic old  woman,  while  she  I  found  almost  as  bright  and  cheery  as  if  she 
had  done  nothing  more  than  usual.     But  'she  is  alone  the  queen  of 

earthly  queens.'     M says  she  is  Pope  now,  crowned  with  the  triple 

crown  of  excellence  in  her  three  parts.  All  this,  no  doubt,  the  story  of  her 
great  success  in  Boston,  will  be  no  news  to  you  ;  but  I  am  sure  you  can 
never  hear  too  much  of  her  good  health  and  good  condition." 


238  CHARLOTTE  CUSHMAN  : 

duty  to  attend  to  as  well.  I  have  been  hard  at  work,  bodily, 
mentally,  socially,  and  not,  I  hope,  worthlessly.  If  you  have 
seen  any  of  the  New  York  papers  from  about  the  26th  Sep- 
tember and  17th  October  to  29th  of  the  same,  you  would  have 
seen  that  my  country-people  give  me  credit  for  growth  in 
grace,  and  believe  now  firmly  that  they  have  a  Siddons  of  their 
own  !  Of  course  it  is  not  displeasing  to  me  to  be  so  considered, 
but  /  know  better !  I  dare  say  I  have  grown  intellectually,  and 
my  suffering  has  been  sent  to  me  in  vain  if  I  have  not  im- 
proved in  spirit  during  all  the  time  I  have  been  away  from  my 
profession ;  but  as  a  mere  actress,  I  was  as  good,  if  not  better, 
eleven  years  ago  than  I  am  now.  But  what  is  printed  lives 
for  us,  and  what  is  conceived  and  acted  lives  only  in  the 
memory  of  the  beholder;  thus  I  am  glad  that  such  things 
should  be  printed  of  me.  I  do  not  think  it  has  hurt  me 
physically  to  work.  While  the  recognition  has  done  my  soul 
and  spirit  good,  I  feel  that  I  have  not  labored  in  vain.  Then, 
after  New  York,  when  I  went  to  my  native  city,  Boston,  where 
they  never  believed  in  me  so  much  as  they  did  elsewhere,  I 
came  to  have  such  praise  as  made  my  heart  satisfied,  and  they 
indorsed  their  good  opinions  in  a  substantial  way,  which  was 
also  good.  The  City  Council  paid  me  a  great  honor  in  formally 
announcing  to  the  world  that  one  of  their  chief  boasts,  their 
public  school  system,  should  be  associated  with  my  name, 
by  enacting  that  henceforth  and  forever  the  school  building 
which  had  been  erected  on  the  site  where  stood  the  house  in 
which  I  was  born  was  to  be  known  as  the  Ctishman  School. 
This  from  old  Puritan  stock,  which  believes  that  the  public 
school  is  the  throne  of  the  state,  was  a  greater  honor  than  any 
I  could  have  received  from  them.  I  was  proud,  first,  that  I 
as  an  actress  had  won  it;  then,  secondly,  that  for  the  first 
time  this  had  been  bestowed  upon  a  woman ;  and  then  came 
the  civic  pride,  in  knowing  that  my  townspeople  should  care 
that  I  was  ever  born.  Nothing  in  all  my  life  has  so  pleased 
me  as  this." 

The  ceremonies  were  simple  and  impressive.    The  chil- 


HER  LIFE,  LETTERS,  AND   MEMORIES.  239 

dren  sang,  and  presented  flowers.  Speeches  were  made, 
to  which  Miss  Cushman  responded  in  her  usual  hearty- 
manner,  and  from  her  usual  text,  —  impressing  upon  her 
youthful  hearers  the  value  of  earnestness  of  purpose,  and 
the  need  to  give  themselves  up  to  any  work  they  had 
to  do,  whether  of  business  or  kindness,  of  sympathy  or 
obedience."  She  then  read  to  them  "After  Blenheim," 
by  Southey,  and  other  selections. 

The  following  letter,  by  an  eye-witness  of  the  proceed- 
ings on  this  occasion,  may  not  be  uninteresting. 

"  In  the  old,  historic  part  of  Boston,  close  by  the  chime 
of  bells  given  to  the  American  colonists  by  King  George, 
under  the  vigilant  eye  of  the  old  cockerel,  there  stood,  in 
1816,  a  'rough  cast'  house.  Here,  amid  the  summer  heats, 
■was  born,  of  stern  Puritan  stock,  a  blue-eyed  girl  who  after- 
wards, single-handed,  fought  her  way  to  an  eminence  where 
she  stood  a  queen,  her  royal  right  unchallenged  !  Boston 
proudly  boasts  that  her  day  and  generation  had  not  Charlotte 
Cushman's  equal.  In  1867  the  old  house  was  torn  down, 
and  in  its  place  was  built  a  handsome  brick  school-house. 
For  five  years  it  had  no  name  ;  then  —  happy  thought !  — 
a  member  of  the  school  board  proposed  it  should  be  called 
The  *  Cushman  School,'  in  honor  of  the  celebrated  actress. 
Some  of  the  old  conservatives  were  startled  into  a  mild  re- 
monstrance. A  public  building  named,  forsooth,  for  a  woman! 
What  matter  that  it  was  a  girls'  school,  and  women  only  for 
teachers !  Fortunately  there  was  no  mayor  who  must  be 
flattered  with  an  educational  namesake ;  so  the  vote  was 
carried,  and  to-day  a  woman's  name  is  graven  in  letters  of 
granite  upon  its  fagade.  On  the  fifth  day  of  January,  1872, 
Miss  Cushman  made  a  tour  of  the  building,  gracing  each  room 
with  her  presence.  Then  all  were  assembled  in  the  hall  for 
a  dedicatory  service.  On  the  floor  were  seated  the  pupils,  a 
thousand  girls ;  on  the  platform,  teachers  and  visitors ;  and  in 
the  centre,  Miss  Cushman.   Here  she  made  her  'maiden  speech,' 


240  CHARLOTTE  CUSHMAN  : 

as  she  smilingly  said.  Those  upturned  girlish  faces  were  all 
the  inspiration  she  needed,  and  a  flush  of  enthusiasm  gathered 
on  her  pale  face.  For  their  encouragement  she  told  them 
she  walked  those  very  streets,  a  school-girl  as  poor  as  the 
poorest  among  them.  With  rapid  gestures  of  her  large, 
shapely  hands,  her  eyes  glowing  with  the  fire  of  her  own  pe- 
culiar genius  and  her  habitual  intensity,  she  told  them  that 
whatever  she  had  attained  had  been  by  giving  herself  to  her 
work.  A  patience  that  tired  not,  an  energy  that  faltered  not, 
a  persistence  that  knew  no  flagging,  principles  that  swerved 
not,  and  the  victory  was  hers,  after  long  years  of  hard  work. 
Higher  than  her  intellectual  strength,  higher  than  her  culture 
or  genius  or  graces  of  character,  she  ranked  her  ability  for 
work.  This  was  the  secret  of  her  success,  and  the  legacy  she 
bequeathed  the  girls  of  the  Cushman  School.  They  knew 
something  of  her  history ;  that  she  had  educated  herself; 
that  she  had  stoutly  resisted  the  shafts  of  disease ;  that  the 
great  men  of  the  age  delighted  to  do  her  honor ;  that  she  was 
an  earnest,  religious  woman,  upon  whose  fair  name  rested  no 
shadow  of  suspicion.  They  felt  the  soft  womanliness  of  her 
character  shining  out  from  the  majesty  of  strength,  and  who 
can  say  how  many  impulses 

*  To  dare  and  do  and  be  * 
were  bom  there  1 

"  Among  the  honored  visitors  who  pressed  round  after  the 
exercises  were  over  was  a  slender,  dark-eyed  woman,  principal 
of  a  well-known  seminary  about  twenty  miles  from  Boston, 
a  woman  whom  hundreds  have  risen  up  and  called  blessed. 
She  had  been  thrilled  by  Miss  Cushman's  words,  and  with  an 
impulsive  earnestness,  so  characteristic,  said,  as  she  was  in- 
troduced :  *  I  wish  you  might  live  a  hundred  years  and  see 
the  seed  you  have  to-day  planted  spring  up  and  ripen  a  hun- 
dred-fold.' The  reply  flashed  back  quick  and  strong,  *  Mad- 
am, I  wish  I  might,  that  I  could  do  more  and  do  it  better ! ' 
As  the  two  women,  each  eminent  and  successful  in  her  chosen 
sphere,  clasped  hands   and  looked  in  each  other's  face  one 


HER  LIFE,  LETTERS,  AND  MEMORIES.  241 

brief  minute,  they  recognized  a  fellowship  of  soul,  a  kinship 
of  purpose. 

"  Goethe  said,  '  On  some  faces  there  is  only  a  date,  on  oth- 
ers a  history  I '  Much  of  conflict  and  victory  was  chiselled 
on  Charlotte  Cushman's  face.  None  of  us  refuse  '  Glory  to 
God  in  the  highest,'  few  but  wish  *  peace  on  earth,'  but  she 
had  surely  learned  *  good  will  toward  men  ' ;  and  these  three 
chords  of  that  angelic  choir,  which  nearly  two  thousand  years 
ago  sang  '  o'er  the  blue  hills  of  Galilee,'  had  turned  the  ele- 
ments of  her  character  into  harmonious  beauty." 

Among  many  newspaper  notices  of  this  period  (1871)  I 
select  a  few,  which,  as  expressing  the  universal  opinion 
of  the  time,  are  worthy  of  preservation  here.  Her  first 
appearance  at  Booth's,  in  Queen  Katharine,  is  thus  al- 
luded to  by  the  Tribune  :  — 

"  Tlie  enthusiastic  reception  which  Miss  Cushman  received 
on  Monday  night  must  convince  her  how  dear  she  is  to  the 
public,  and  with  what  profound  regret  her  departure  from  the 
stage  is  viewed  by  all  the  lovers  of  dramatic  art.  Not  to  many 
women  is  it  given  to  arouse  our  admiration ;  to  fewer  is  it 
granted  to  gain  our  respect  and  gratitude.  Miss  Cushman 
can  pronounce  the  sad  word  '  farewell,'  with  the  honest  and 
proud  conviction  that  her  name  will  live  in  the  annals  of  the 
drama  as  one  that  was  ever  associated  with  all  that  is  noble 
and  pure.  To  her  we  owe  a  special  debt  of  gratitude,  in  that 
she  has  ever  been  true  to  her  art  in  spite  of  difficulty,  reproach^ 
and  suffering." 

Another  notice  alludes  to  her  reception  as  full  of  re- 
spectful enthusiasm,  tempered  with  regret :  — 

"  She  acted  with  remarkable  strength  and  fire.  That  she 
would  bring  back  to  the  stage  her  old  earnestness  and  subtlety, 
her  unique  command  of  all  the  resources  of  her  art,  and  her 
keen  appreciation  of  the  text,  enriching  even  the  spaces  be- 
tween the  lines  with  wonderful   suggest iveness  of  look  and 


242  CHAELOTTE  CUSHMAN  : 

gesture,  we  quite  expected.  But  last  night  she  did  more. 
She  threw  into  her  performance  a  vigor  and  intensity  not  in- 
ferior, as  we  remember  them,  to  those  characteristics  in  her 
best  days.  Miss  Cushman  is  beginning  to  feel  the  approach 
of  age,  and  physically,  perhaps,  she  is  not  equal  to  her  former 
self.  But  weakness,  if  it  exists,  is  more  than  atoned  for  by 
the  splendor  of  her  intelligence,  her  scholarly  and  refined 
elocution,  the  pathos,  the  simplicity,  the  effectiveness  of  her 
action.  It  is  one  thing  to  play  a  queen's  part,  it  is  another 
thing  to  look  like  a  queen.  We  wish  some  of  the  young  ladies 
who  think  themselves  tragic  actresses,  and  who  trust  to  their 
pretty  faces  and  elaborate  toilets  for  success,  would  take 
lessons  from  the  carriage  of  Miss  Cushman.  She,  at  least, 
derived  no  aid  from  the  magnificence  of  dress,  or  from  per- 
sonal beauty  ;  but  there  was  a  royalty  in  her  demeanor,  a  con- 
sciousness of  power  in  her  every  movement,  which  made  her 
the  one  figure  of  interest  on  the  stage." 

One  more  extract  will  suffice. 

"  The  announcement  that  this  will  be  Miss  Cushman's  clos- 
ing engagement  will  cause  many  a  pang  of  regret,  that  this 
great  actress,  this  unequalled  reader,  most  thorough  artist, 
and  noble  lady,  is  to  be  seen  no  more  upon  the  stage  she  has 
graced  with  her  presence  so  long.  Her  life,  which  has  not 
even  now  *  fallen  into  the  sere  and  yellow  leaf,'  is  one  that  can 
be  set  forth  as  a  bright  example  of  what  energy,  intelligence, 
virtue,  and  independence  of  character  can  accomplish.  Women 
on  the  stage  nowadays  owe  much  of  their  popularity  to  their 
beauty.  Miss  Cushman  never  was  beautiful,  except  in  that 
beauty  and  nobility  of  character  which  shines  through  her 
face  and  irradiates  it  with  a  strange  glory  of  truthfulness,  of 
honor,  and  of  refinement. 

"  The  special  glory  of  Miss  Cushman's  final  representations 
has  been  that  they  bore  evidence  of  enlarged  thought  and  cul- 
ture without  losing  any  of  their  old  efficiency.  She  came  back 
to  say  adieu  in  her  old  strenuous  way,  after  a  lifetime  spent 


HER  LIFE,  LETTERS,  AND  MEMORIES.  243 

in  the  service  of  the  drama,  and  she  wins  us  again,  not  by  a 
renewal  of  her  old  powers,  but  by  the  disclosure  of  new  ones. 
It  was  impossible  not  to  see  that  she  had  broader  views  of 
human  nature,  and  had  obtained  a  deeper  insight  into  its 
secrets  ;  that  her  sensibilities  were  as  keen  as  ever,  but  that 
her  judgment  was  matured  ;  in  a  word,  that  she  was  none  the 
less  the  great  actress,  but  more  than  ever  the  finished  artist. 

"  Let  us  not  fail  to  make  fitting  record  of  this  before  the 
priestess  of  an  almost  deserted  temple  passes  out  of  our  sight 
forever ;  no  nobler  record  can  we  well  make,  and  none  that 
will  carry  so  valuable  a  lesson  to  those  neophytes  who  may 
hereafter  minister  in  the  same  temple.  Standing  at  this  mo- 
ment before  her  countrymen,  the  recipient  of  honors  that  are 
now,  alas !  rare  in  her  profession,  recognized  as  a  representa- 
tive artist,  let  us  not  forget  that  the  greatest  boon  she  has 
conferred  upon  the  American  stage  is  her  demonstration  that 
it  is  possible  to  combine  genius  and  culture,  goodness  and 
greatness." 

Miss  Cushman  spent  the  Christmas  of  this  year  (1871) 
at  Hyde  Park,  and  was  very  happy  and  merry  in  spite  of 
her  physical  ills.  She  enjoyed  the  country  at  all  seasons, 
and  never  felt  a  moment's  ennui  or  weariness,  although 
at  that  season  there  was  no  social  life  but  what  the  four 
walls  and  the  family  circle  afforded  her.  She  occupied 
herself  in  preparing  her  readings,  took  long  walks  and 
drives,  and  was  apparently  well  and  strong,  though  always 
conscious  of  her  *'  enemy,"  as  she  called  her  ailment.  On 
the  15th  of  January,  1872,  she  started  on  her  Western  tour, 
and  passed  the  months  of  March,  April,  and  May  read- 
ing and  acting  in  various  places.  On  the  3d  and  4th  of 
April  she  gave  two  very  successful  readings  in  Philadel- 
phia, and  on  the  7th  she  made  a  visit  to  her  friend  Mr. 
William  B.  Ogden,  at  his  well-known  country-seat  in  the 
neighborhood  of  New  York.     It  was  not  until  June  10 


244  CHARLOTTE   CQSHMAN  : 

that  slie  took  possession  of  her  villa  at  Newport,  wliicli 
had  been  built  during  her  absence.  She  concluded  her 
season  of  work  by  giving  a  reading  for  the  benefit  of  the 
Newport  Hospital,  on  August  20 ;  and  on  the  23d  she 
read  for  the  Protestant  Episcopal  Chapel  at  Narragan- 
sett. 

The  reading  which  Miss  Cushman  gave  at  Narragansett 
deserves  a  more  particular  mention.  She  went  over  early 
on  the  day  appointed  (a  lovely  morning  in  August),  accom- 
panied by  a  party  of  friends,  and  was  received  with  great 
distinction  by  the  lady  under  whose  auspices  the  reading 
had  been  inaugurated,  Mrs.  W.  B.  Eichards  of  Boston, 
and  the  numerous  summer  visitors  of  the  hotels  which 
stand  all  along  the  shore  of  Narragansett  Bay.  The  read- 
ing took  place  in  the  chapel  for  the  benefit  of  which  it 
was  intended,  and  was  a  very  successful  affair.  Towards, 
evening  a  large  assembly  of  admiring  and  grateful  friends 
accompanied  her  to  the  landing,  and  the  little  steamer 
sailed  away  upon  the  summer  sea  amid  cheers  and  waving 
of  handkerchiefs.  It  was  one  of  those  wonderful  evenings 
of  which  Newport  only  is  capable :  a  sunset  of  unexam- 
pled glory  illuminated  the  sea  and  touched  with  points 
of  fire  the  distant  buildings  and  the  nearer  islands ;  a  calm 
serenity,  as  of  a  good  deed  happily  accomplished,  filled 
the  air  and  gently  touched  all  hearts.  It  was  an  evening 
which  all  those  who  shared  its  sweetness  wiU  long  re- 
member. 

On  the  occasion  of  the  reading  for  the  benefit  of  the 
Newport  Hospital  a  proposition  was  made  to  Miss  Cush- 
man, by  one  of  the  wealthy  and  fashionable  summer  resi- 
dents, that  she  should  give  the  reading  at  her  house,  which 
was  freely  placed  at  Miss  Cushman's  disposal.  She  de- 
clined the  proposition,  on  the  ground  that  as  she  was 
reading  for  the  benefit  of  the  people  of  Newport,  she  pre- 


^j.^,s:,f^^j;/jsv:^j^^«5j^,-*^^. 


HER  LIFE,  LETTERS,  AND  MEMORIES.  245 

ferred  to  do  so  in  a  place  to  which  they  might  more  freely 
come ;  and  she  therefore  gave  it  in  the  town  itself.  It 
was  a  very  successful  effort,  notwithstanding  that  the  peo- 
ple for  whom  she  made  it  had  not  public  spirit  enough 
to  avail  themselves  as  fully  as  might  have  been  expected 
of  her  kindly  thoughtfulness. 

After  October  11th  follows  a  long  season  of  acting  and 
reading  in  all  parts  of  the  country.  She  was  acting  in 
Boston  at  the  time  of  the  great  fire,  and  her  engagement 
was  interrupted  by  that  calamity.  On  December  5th 
she  again  went  West,  arriving  on  the  14th  of  January 
in  New  Orleans,  having  engaged  to  act  with  Mr.  Law- 
rence Barrett's  company  there  and  in  other  Southern 
cities.  This  was  a  most  disastrous  experience.  After  act- 
ing a  week  in  New  Orleans  she  was  taken  seriously  ill, 
and,  notwithstanding  every  effort  and  struggle  on  her 
part  to  keep  her  engagements,  found  herself  compelled  to 
abandon  them.  From  Montgomery  she  started,  still  very 
weak  and  ill,  with  recurring  chills  and  fever,  to  make  the 
best  of  her  way  to  Philadelphia  and  her  good  doctor 
there.  The  journey  was  a  terrible  one ;  owing  to  the  sea- 
son, and  want  of  proper  information  as  to  the  route,  she 
encountered  every  kind  of  discomfort;  missing  connec- 
tions and  obliged  to  stop  over  at  the  most  God-forsaken 
places,  unable  to  procure  suitable  food,  and  obliged,  when 
she  did  move,  to  take  the  poorest  kind  of  accommodation. 
At  length,  on  the  12th  of  February  she  arrived,  much 
prostrated,  in  Philadelphia,  and  remained  there  under 
the  doctor's  care  until  the  1st  of  March,  when  she  was 
sufficiently  recovered  to  recommence  work  at  Washing- 
ton. Following  this,  she  moved  with  her  usual  rapidity 
from  point  to  point,  reading,  acting,  and  visiting  in  various 
places. 

From  a  series   of  letters    written   during  the  years 


246  CHARLOTTE   CUSHMAN: 

1872-74  I  make  some  brief  extracts,  which  show  where 
and  how  she  was  at  those  dates,  and  cany  on  the  rec- 
ord in  the  best  way,  namely,  from  her  own  lips.  Her 
life  was  too  full  for  her  letters  to  be  much  more  than 
brief  memoranda  of  the  facts  of  each  day,  written  to  re- 
lieve the  anxiety  of  friends  at  a  distance ;  but  interesting, 
as  all  letters  from  people  of  marked  character  must  ever 
be.  Her  summer  had  been  spent  mostly  at  Newport,  in 
the  midst  of  her  family.  On  September  28th  she  writes 
from  there,  speaking  of  the  departure  of  the  children  and 
the  break-up  of  her  home  for  the  summer. 

*'  I  do  not  get  over  my  dreadful  depression  and  sickness  of 
heart,  and  I  cannot  reason  myself  out  of  it.  I  suppose  it  is 
that  I  am  weaker  than  ever  before,  and  the  summer  has  been 
a  greater  strain  upon  me  than  I  knew,  until  the  reaction  came. 
I  have  had  much  trial  this  summer,  more  than  any  one  knows. 
First,  the  excitement  of  getting  into  the  house,  then  the  heat, 
the  arrival  of  the  things  from  Rome,  and  the  sickness  of  soul 
over  the  memories  that  were  awakened  at  the  sight  of  them ; 
but  most  of  all,  the  wrench  I  had  at  last  in  the  departure  of 
my  children,  the  breaking  up  and  being  left  alone.  I  have 
been  very  lonely.  This  is  a  confession  of  weakness ;  but 
enough  of  myself." 

From  Swampscott,  one  of  her  favorite  places,  she  writes 
to  a  friend  :  — 

"  Your  dear  spirit  is  all  around  me  in  this  sweet  place,  and 
I  seem  to  be  sure  that  I  shall  find  you  in  your  own  room  if  I 
go  out  and  return  ;  but,  alas  !  I  shall  not  see  you  until  a  fort- 
night from  this  day,  when  we  will  have  Si  jubilation,  won't  we] 
I  had  a  tremendous  success  in  my  reading  yesterday.  Phillips 
Brooks  says  it  is  the  most  wonderful  '  growth '  since  last  year, 
and  many  others  say  the  same.  George  Macdonald  and  his 
wife  were  so  enthusiastic  that  when  you  know  the  quiet  people 
that  they  are  it  will  seem  wonderful.     He  speaks  of  me  in  his 


HER  LIFE,  LETTERS,  iJND  MEMORIES.  247 

lecture  on  Burns,  where  he  repeats  some  lines,  and  says,  *  If 
I  had  my  friend  Miss  Cushman  here  to  read  it  to  you,  she 
would  show  you  much  more  meaning  in  it  than  /  can.'  Fields 
also  refers  to  me  in  his  *  Masters  of  the  Situation.'  So  you  see 
I  am  getting  spoiled.  I  read  the  *  Skeleton  in  Armor '  well, 
and  the  effect  was  fine.  I  made  the  '  fearful  guest '  speak  in 
monotone,  like  the  ghost  in  *  Hamlet,'  and  you  cannot  think 
how  strange  and  weird  it  sounded.  You  could  hear  a  pin 
drop  in  that  vast  hall,  which,  after  all,  is  a  most  awful  place 
to  speak  in.  I  was  tired,  but  not  so  much  so  as  I  expected. 
*  Ivry  '  brought  down  the  house  at  every  verse,  and  our  good 
friend  here  says  he  don't  believe  any  other  woman,  or  man, 
could  give  the  *  Hurrah  ! '  with  me.  So  much  for  all  that  part 
of  me  ;  the  other  home  part  of  me  hurried  away  from  the  hall 
as  fast  as  the  *  dear  five  hundred  friends,'  who  came  to  the 
artists'  room  to  speak  to  me  and  thank  me,  would  permit,  glad 
to  get  back  to  my  dear  hostess,  who  is  the  soul  of  goodness, 
and  *  just  adores  me.'  " 

With  reference  to  the  above  reading  a  friend  writes 
to  Miss  Cushman  one  of  those  little  tokens  which  more 
clearly  than  anything  else  give  the  feeling  her  efforts  at 
this  time  were  eliciting  from  her  friends  and  the  public. 

"Dear  Friend  :  Let  me  tell  you  of  the  entire  and  perfect  suc- 
cess of  your  last  evening's  reading.  My  most  critical  judgment 
could  not  pick  a  flaw  in  you  or  your  work.  You  looked  and 
did  superbly.  It  is  to  the  praise  of  modern  things  that  in 
your  half-dozen  selections  you  could  gather  up  such  sweet  and 
noble  sentiment ;  and  that  you  could  succeed,  either  in  getting 
out  of  it  or  putting  into  it,  such  exquisite  shadings  of  thought 
and  feeling,  seemed  to  everybody  simply  wonderful.  I  was 
never  among  a  more  impressed  and  delighted  audience  ;  a 
sense  of  awe,  half  of  affright,  oppressed  me,  that  one  personality 
could  hold  and  exactly  express  so  many  and  varied  individuals. 
Even  now,  after  a  night's  sleep,  when  you  came  to  me  once 
and  again,  I  have  still  that  vague  shadowy  sense  as  of  some- 


248  CHARLOTTE  CUSHMAN  : 

thing  supernatural  about  me.  Who  shall  say  how  superhuman 
are  the  human  capabilities  1  Well,  dear,  I  am  glad  of  a  noble 
woman  in  the  world." 

I  find  the  following  characteristic  bit  in  one  of  her  own 
letters  of  June  6th :  — 

"  I  am  so  sorry  to  hear  that  your  mother  has  dropped  down 
again.  She  was  very  likely  to  do  so  in  the  quiet  of  the  country. 
She  requires  a  peculiar  kind  of  entertainment,  just  the  kind 
that  '  so  poor  a  man  as  Hamlet  is  '  can  give  her,  —  a  mixture 
of  rattle,  nonsense,  and  sympathy ;  in  fact,  you  will  have  to 

keep  an  actor  for  her  (private),  and  M must  learn  to  endure 

the  presence  of  such  for  her  sake.  You  will  be  able  to  trace 
almost  daily  my  stages  of  being  and  doing  by  my  tone  in 
writing.  I  am  too  bom  a  demonstrator  to  hide  anything. 
'They  tell  all.'" 

Under  date  of  June  26th  sbe  writes  discouragingly  of 
herself: — 

**I  do  get  so  dreadfully  depressed  about  myself,  and  all 
things  seem  so  hopeless  to  me  at  those  times,  that  I  pray  God 
to  take  me  quickly  at  any  moment,  so  that  I  am  not  allowed 
to  torture  those  Ilove  by  letting  them  see  my  pain.  But  when 
the  dark  hour  passes,  and  I  try  to  forget  by  constant  occupa- 
pation  that  I  have  such  a  load  near  my  heart,  then  it  is  not 
so  bad." 

In  July  she  writes :  — 

"  I  am  being  pursued  by  managers,  and  have  promised,  if 
/  am  entirely  ahle^  and  not  otherwise,  to  act  in  New  York  for 
four  weeks,  commencing  the  12th  of  January ;  and  if  the  produc- 
tion of  *  Guy  Mannering '  on  a  grand  scale  should  be  successful, 
I  have  said  I  would  not  interfere  with  it  by  going  elsewhere. 
So  from  January  to  February  I  shall  be  in  New  York  some- 
where. But  I  can  promise  nothing  absolutely,  for  I  am  not 
well,  and  I  suppose  I  shall  not  work  any  more.     Still,  it  gives 


HER  LIFE,  LETTERS,  AND  MEMORIES.  249 

me  something  to  think  of.  I  must  tell  you  of  a  funny  thing 
that  occurred  the  other  day.  A  friend  had  heard  of  a  pair  of 
horses  which  he  wanted  me  to  buy,  but  when  he  wrote  for  them 
they  were  sold.  He  told  me  yesterday  that  the  man  said,  '  Miss 
Cushman  ought  to  have  had  them,  for  they  were  named  Edwin 
Booth  and  Charles  Fechter.*  I  should  have  declined  such  a 
pair,  as  not  likely  to  work  well  together  !  " 

Speaking  of  a  certain  theatrical  d^b^t  about  this  time, 
she  says  :  "  These  women  don't  know  what  they  want,  but 
like  to  try  everything,  to  prove  how  easy  it  is  I " 

The  letters  of  this  time  constantly  end  with  the  prayer, 
"  Ah,  I  pray  God  in  his  infinite  mercy  to  take  me  quickly, 
that  I  may  not  wear  out  those  who  love  me  ! "  And  to 
the  friend  to  whom  she  writes  daily,  who  is  laboring  under 
a  heavy  trial,  she  says :  — 

"  God  bless  you  and  help  you  in  all  ways  to  bear,  to  endure, 
and  be  patient.  This  is  the  best  prayer  I  can  make  for  you, 
and  it  covers  all  the  ground  of  a  life.  From  my  soul  I  make 
it  a  hundred  times  a  day ;  but  prayers  are  all  I  can  give  you 
to  help  you.  I  am  not  able  to  come  to  give  you  comfort  and 
strength  by  my  presence." 

She  was  at  this  time  exercising  the  duties  of  hospitality 
to  a  large  indoor  and  outdoor  circle.  Her  brother  and  her 
niece  had  come  over  from  England,  and  the  Villa  was 
stretched  to  its  utmost  capacity  to  hold  and  entertain  the 
friends  whom  it  was  her  chief  pleasure  to  draw  about  her. 
She  never  thought  of  want  of  room  ;  the  impulse  towards 
kindness  came  first,  the  ways  and  means  of  executing  it 
followed ;  and  it  was  amazing,  and  not  a  little  amusing, 
to  see  the  shifts  to  which  she  resorted  rather  than  disap- 
point or  delay  the  proposed  visit  of  a  friend.  She  used 
to  say, "  This  is  Liberty  Hall ;  every  one  does  as  /  please." 
And,  indeed,  the  homelike,  genial  atmosphere  she  created 


250  CHAELOTTE  CUSHMAN : 

about  her  made  every  one  content  and  happy  in  the 
narrowest  quarters. 

She  was  at  this  time  singing  sometimes  the  sacred  songs 
of  Gounod,  and  enjoying  them  herself  in  the  enjoyment  of 
others.  Speaking  of  one  of  these,  "  There  is  a  Green  Hill 
far  Away,"  she  writes  :  — 

"  I  cannot  give  you  an  idea  of  its  beauty,  for  the  accompani- 
ments are  truly  splendid,  and  our  friend  D so  enjoys  my 

singing  it  that  he  plays  it  beautifully.  I  wind  them  up  some- 
times with  *  Father  MoUoy,'  and  they  go  off  to  bed  very  happy 
and  merry." 

Other  letters  of  this  time  are  not  so  bright  and  hopeful. 
She  is  suffering  more,  and  feels  the  weight  of  care  and 
responsibility  in  so  large  a  household  and  such  abound- 
ing hospitality. 

"  I  am  subject  to  many  interruptions,"  she  writes,  "  from 
all  directions,  and  so  get  confused  and  womed.  I  sometimes 
find  myself  wishing  I  had  no  house,  and  all  who  have  '  a  place 
of  their  own '  will  find  in  time  they  are  likely  to  repent  taking 
such  care  upon  themselves,  and  I  wish  '  Bailie  Nicol  Jarvie's 
boots  had  been  full  of  hot  water  before  he  had  entered  on  sic 
a  damnable  errand  ! ' 

"  The  casino  is  going  on  this  year,  just  opposite,  and  twice 
a  week  the  band  plays  and  the  carriages  congregate  around 
and  in  front  of  this  house,  and  the  sound  of  music  and  voices 
reaches  me  through  my  house,  and  to  my  writing-table.  I 
have  not  been ;  when  I  can  go  in  a  calico  gown,  and  take  my 
sewing,  I  will  go.  I  don't  think  I  will  go  before.  I  have  not 
yet  thought  what  sewing  it  will  be ;  if  it  were  so-so-ing  I  could 
go  any  day,  for  that  is  my  usual  occupation." 

Among  her  visitors  at  this  time  were  her  friends  John 
Gilbert  and  his  wife,  and  she  thus  speaks  of  the  pleasure 
their  visit  afforded  her :  — 

"  August  1 1th.  —  I  spent  a  perfectly  indolent  day  yesterday ; 


HER  LIFE,  LETTERS,   AND   MEMORIES.  251 

that  is,  if  indolence  can  be  where  one  is  busy  all  the  time  with 
reminiscences  and  talks  of  old  friends  and  old  times,  and  later 
times  and  later  people.  I  talked  more  yesterday  than  I  have 
talked  in  a  fortnight,  and  yet  I  was  not  tired.  What  makes 
the  difference  1  Some  people  tire  me  to  death  even  when  I 
don't  talk  myself;  others  don't  tire  me  when  I  do  all  the 
talking.  Is  it  that  I  love  the  sound  of  my  own  voice,  and  am 
vain  and  conceited  1  If  so,  why  don't  I  talk  to  the  others,  and 
find  pleasure  in  my  own  voice  1  No ;  it  seems  to  me  that  some 
people  are  sympathetic,  and  that  others,  however  kind  and 
good  they  may  be,  are  not  so.  Now  on  Saturday  John  Gil- 
bert and  his  wife  came  ;  and  although  I  sigh  when  people  get 
out  at  the  door,  yet  I  was  very  pleased  to  see  this  old  friend 
of  my  childhood,  who  has  been  in  feeling  like  a  brother  to  me 
ever  since  I  was  little ;  even  though  we  have  had  no  association 
for  years,  yet  we  always  meet  just  where  we  left  off,  and  are 
always  happy  when  we  are  talking  to  each  other.  Yesterday 
I  went  to  a  luncheon-party.  It  was  pleasant,  and  of  course 
/  acted  hard,  as  I  always  do ;  but  everybody  seemed  pleased 
with  me,  and  they  were  all  very  agreeable  people.  There  were 
ten  of  us,  and  we  made  a  great  noise,  which  they  say  is  a  good 
sign  for  fun,  but  not  so  much  for  convention.  I  cannot  let 
people  be  conventional  where  I  am,  for  I  don't  know  how,  and 
when  I  go  to  play  with  people,  they  must  play  my  way  ;  is  it 
not  so  'i  And  this  is  the  only  thing  I  will  admit  I  am  dogmatic 
in.  Of  course  I  was  good  for  nothing  when  I  came  home  ; 
had  to  go  to  bed  at  once ;  but  later  I  did  a  portion  of  '  Mid- 
summer Night's  Dream '  with  John,  and  he  says  I  am  awfully 
funny  in  Bottom.     We  shall  see." 

On  the  25th  of  August  she  left  Newport  for  change  of 
air,  the  climate  of  that  place  being  unfavorable  for  her 
during  the  muggy  heats  and  fogs  of  August,  and  spent  a 
delightful  week  in  exploring  the  recesses  of  the  Catskill 
range  under  the  convoy  of  Mr.  William  B.  Ogden,  who, 
being  a  native  of  that  locality,  made  the  excursion  very 
pleasant  with  his  memories  and  reminiscences.   They  trav- 


252  CHARLOTTE  CUSHMAN  : 

elled  short  distances  each  day  by  carriage,  stopping  each 
night  at  some  one  of  the  pleasant  towns  which  lie  all  along 
the  course  of  the  Delaware  Eiver.  She  was  as  usual 
warmly  interested  in  all  she  saw  and  heard  ;  the  country 
was  lovely,  and  the  long  hours'  driving  in  the  open  air 
helped  and  strengthened  her  much. 

September  was  passed  chiefly  at  Newport,  and  it  was 
not  until  October  that  she  started  on  her  Western  journey, 
in  better  general  health  than  she  had  been  during  the 
summer,  and,  from  the  tone  of  her  letters,  in  excellent 
spirits  also.  She  began  acting  in  Chicago  on  the  13th 
October,  following  up  at  Eochester,  Cleveland,  Toledo, 
Detroit,  Buffalo,  and  Boston. 

These  letters  of  1873-74,  written  under  all  the 
pressure  of  steady  work  and  perpetual  travel,  are  wonder- 
ful evidences  of  her  remarkable  physical  powers,  as  well 
as  of  the  bright  sunshiny  nature  which  could  not  be  long 
lowered  or  depressed  by  outer  circumstances.  They  have 
not  a  morbid  note  in  them.  If  a  trial  or  a  pain  comes,  it 
is  told  frankly,  but  always  with  some  hopeful  comment 
or  some  comforting  bit  of  philosophy.  Writing  from  El- 
mira,  she  says  :  — 

"  In  Utica,  on  Monday,  I  thought  I  should  be  blown  away ; 
the  wind  blew  like  'cinque  centi  diavoli,'  as  they  say  in  Italy. 
I  am  glad  you  think  I  did  right  in  the  way  I  have  given  up 
my  summer.  I  did  it  unselfishly,  and  so  it  has  gone  well. 
I  never  think  much  of  what  I  do  for  my  own  ;  God  gave  them 
to  me  and  me  to  them  just  for  that  purpose,  and  I  am  simply 
doing  my  duty  to  help  them  to  health  and  happiness  if  I  can. 
Thus  you  say  comforting  things  when  you  say  I  have  done 
well 

"  Yes,  you  are  right ;  little  people  are  conceited,  some  big 
people,  too,  sometimes,  but  little  people  always.  If  you  could 
have  seen  three  people  with  whom  I  dined  on  Sunday,  three 


HER  LIFE,  LETTERS,   AND   MEMORIES.  253 

of  the  littlest  people  you  ever  saw,  and  three  such  conceits ! 
I  sat  dumb  in  wonderment,  and  they  all  talked,  and  would 
talk.  This  sort  must,  you  know,  even  if  no  one  understands 
or  cares  for  what  they  are  saying." 

On  November  16th  she  writes  :  — 

"  I  was  in  a  sort  of  trap  at  Springfield,  Ohio  ;  could  not  get 
out,  or  make  sure  connection  anywhere,  unless  I  went  in  a 
caboose  car  on  a  freight  train  from  Springfield  to  Urbana.  I 
had  to  start  at  nine  o'clock ;  of  course  starting  at  nine  makes 
me  out  of  bed  at  seven.  The  hoiTor  of  being  left  at  this  place 
was  so  great,  that  I  kept  waking  all  night,  and  asking  Salhe 
what  time  it  was,  for  fear  she  should  oversleep  herself  At 
seven  I  was  up  and,  marvellous  to  relate,  dressed  in  an  hour  ; 
got  some  breakfast,  and  walked  to  the  station,  for  I  had  to  go 
to  the  freight  department  and  start  from  there.  But  that 
same  caboose  car  was  a  clean  as  a  pink,  a  nice  gentlemanly  fel- 
low, of  that  class,  was  the  conductor,  and  I  was  able  to  walk 
about  and  pick  up  information  generally.  Well,  the  day  was 
more  gorgeous  than  anything  you  can  imagine.  I  stood  by 
an  open  window  all  the  fourteen  miles,  and  enjoyed  the  warm 
balminess  of  the  air  after  the  wet  and  cold  and  gloom  I  had 
been  enduring.  Arrived  at  Urbana,  I  had  to  wait  an  hour  and 
a  half  for  the  train ;  of  course  the  waiting-room  was  so  hot 
that  it  was  impossible  to  sit  in  it.  So  I  walked  up  and  down 
in  the  sun,  thinking,  determining,  resolving,  and  promising  our 
Lady  of  Loretto,  etc.,  etc.,  if  ever  I  got  out  of  this,  etc.,  etc., 
etc.,  I  would  never,  etc.,  etc.,  etc.,  any  more.  By  the  by,  as 
I  make  these  three  signs  of  etc.,  it  strikes  me  very  much  Uke 
the  geographical  or  geometrical  designs  of  my  journeyings 
since  I  left  you,  for  such  up  and  downs,  ins  and  outs,  to's 
and  froms  I  have  never  before  encountered  in  succession.  I 
have  committed  some  escapades,  but  they  were  short  and 
sharp.     This  has  been  a  long-drawn-out  affair." 

The  above  allusion  to  "  our  Lady  of  Loretto  "  was  a 
reminiscence  of  a  witty  friend,  who  was  wont  on  any  occa- 


254  CHARLOTTE  CUSHMAN  : 

sion  of  difficulty  or  emergency  to  promise  two  candle- 
sticks to  our  Lady  of  Loretto,  with  inimitable  grace  and 
unction. 

In  a  sad  letter  from  Toledo,  November  26,  she  writes : — 

*'  I  have  got  off  acting  at  a  matinee,  which  was  first  intended, 
and  I  shall  give  thanks  for  that,  and  all  the  infinite  mercies 
of  God  to  me,  for  they  are  manifold.  I  am  suffering  a  good 
deal  more  pain  than  I  like  to  acknowledge,  and  only  when  I 
am  on  the  stage  or  asleep  am  I  unconscious  of  it.  This  has 
been  unceasing  since  the  summer,  and  I  suppose  I  must  ex- 
pect it ;  but  while  I  can  bear  it  I  am  wrong  to  give  any  ex- 
pression of  it,  even  to  you.  It  is  wicked  of  me  to  say  any- 
thing about  it,  and  I  have  a  great  mind  to  destroy  this  letter ; 
and  yet,  and  yet,  when  we  regularly  face  our  real  troubles  I 
believe  they  become  more  endurable,  and  the  thought  con- 
veyed in  one  of  your  last  letters,  that  anything  happening  to 
me  would  kill  you,  gives  me  much  sad  thought.  I  have  been 
spared  much  longer  than  you  or  I  ever  thought  possible  when 
my  trouble  first  declared  itself.  We  ought  to  be  better  pre- 
pared by  this  time,  and  we  must  school  ourselves  for  what  is 
inevitable  ;  though  I  am  a  poor  creature  to  talk  in  this  way,  for 
I  cannot  accept  even  the  inevitable  without  fighting.  I  have 
fought,  God  knows,  very  hard  for  four  years,  especially  the  two 
last ;  but  I  know  my  enemy,  he  is  ever  before  me,  and  he  must 
conquer ;  but  I  cannot  give  up  to  him.  I  laugh  in  his  face 
and  try  to  be  jolly,  and  I  am  !  I  declare  I  am,  even  when  he 
presses  me  hardest,  and  you  must  try  to  be  so  too.  You  must 
not  mind  these  landmarks  which  you  get  occasionally  from 
me  in  any  other  way  than  to  make  you  more  and  more 
resigned  to  the  changes  which  must  come  some  time  to  every- 
body, and  which,  wandering  as  I  do,  and  running  other  risks 
than  those  which  fate  seems  to  have  marked  out  distinctly  for 
me,  might  come  to  me  any  day  and  any  hour." 

After  a  severe  illness  in  Baltimore,  which  obliged  her 
to  stop  short  in  all  her  engagements  for  a  time,  she  writes 
upon  recovery,  February  14th :  — 


HER  LIFE,  LETTERS,  AND   MEMORIES.  255 

**  I  am  SO  grieved  to  hear  you  are  not  well ;  but  keep  up  a 
good  heart,  courage,  and  let  us  thank  God  that  we  are  both 
lifted  out  of  our  troubles  and  anxieties,  and  we  shall  be  com- 
forted by  the  laying  of  ourselves  at  his  feet,  for  that  means 
resignation  and  self-abnegation,  and  with  both  of  these  comes 
help ;  and  only  in  self-abnegation  and  self-sacrifice  does  help 
come.  Then  God  takes  up  his  part,  but  while  we  will  help 
ourselves  he  permits  us.  I  have  a  lovely  day  for  my  journey, 
and  all  promises  well.  Once  in  Philadelphia  you  must  have 
no  anxiety  about  me,  for  is  not  God  and  my  good  doctor 
there  ?  " 

After  this  the  tone  of  her  letters  is  better  and  more 
hopeful  for  some  time.  She  is  again  looking  forward 
to  work,  and  laying  out  plans  for  the  future ;  but  she 
says :  — 

"  Ah,  how  we  lay  out  plans,  and  how  they  are  all  frustrated 
and  hopes  shattered  and  calculations  blown  to  air  by  an  over- 
excitement  !  Hereafter,  neither  before  nor  after  my  readings 
will  I  do  anything  but  rest,  and  always  during  my  readings  I 
must  wear  a  bit  and  a  bridle." 

It  is  from  Wilkesbarre  she  is  writing :  — 

"  Let  us  be  fashionable,  or  perish.  So  I  begin  my  note 
of  to-day  writing  across  the  paper  instead  of  the  usual 
way.  I  sit,  as  I  write,  and  look  across  a  large  yellow 
river  to  the  opposite  stretch  of  hills,  upon  which  the  sun  is 
lying  in  a  March-y  way.  The  wind  is  slapping  the  branches 
of  the  trees  against  one  another,  and  loosening  the  sap-cells, 
and  very  soon,  in  a  three  days'  change,  spring  will  be  upon 
us.  You  and  I  have  been  passing  through  our  blowing  sand 
slappings,  and  we  shall,  as  soon  as  bright  days  come,  be  like 
birds,  hopping,  singing,  and  making  everybody  jolly  about 
us." 

May  l^th.  During  this  interval  Miss  Cushman  had 
gone  through  a  very  successful  reading  engagement  in 


256  CHAELOTTE  CUSHMAN  : 

New  York,  and  liad  put  herself  under  a  course  of  water- 
treatment  which  she  thought  was  helping  her.  Under 
this  date  she  writes  :  — 

"  I  am  satisfied  that  the  treatment  is  doing  me  good,  not, 
perhaps,  by  any  evidence  in  my  special  malady,  but  in  my 
general  condition.  I  am  feeUng  generally  much  better.  I 
am  certainly  going  through  my  work  wonderfully ;  my  spirits 
are  better,  and  I  can  do  more.  I  am  sure  it  is  the  treatment. 
I  am  so  settled  in  my  faith  in  this,  that  I  think  I  will  consent 
to  the  engagement  offered  me  at  Booth's  Theatre  for  Octo- 
ber." 

During  the  rest  of  this  summer  she  pursued  the  water- 
treatment  with  her  usual  firm  persistence  in  whatever 
she  once  accepted.  In  some  respects,  as  the  foregoing 
letter  will  show,  she  found  benefit,  and  there  can  be  no 
doubt  it  relieved  her  of  some  unfavorable  symptoms ;  but 
as  time  went  on  there  were  evidences  that  the  time  for 
giving  up  the  active  work  of  her  profession  was  at  hand. 

Her  last  engagement  at  Booth's  Theatre  was  the  result 
of  these  convictions,  though  when  she  entered  upon  it 
she  had  no  thought  of  taking  a  formal  farewell  of  the 
stage.  She  had  already  made  engagements  to  act,  if  she 
were  able,  in  various  parts  of  the  country,  and,  as  every- 
body knows,  theatrical  engagements  are  fixed  and  irrevo- 
cable facts,  which  cannot  be  altered  or  modified  except 
under  conditions  of  absolute  inability  from  illness.  After- 
wards, when  the  farewell  at  Booth's  Theatre  was  deter- 
mined on,  and  the  ovation  tendered  to  her  which  assumed 
such  formidable  proportions,  she  herself  explained  to  the 
public  that  she  was  still  under  these  engagements,  and 
also  that  in  leaving  the  stage  she  reserved  to  herself 
the  right  of  appearing  at  the  reading-desk.  This  expla- 
nation  seemed   necessary  at  the  time,  and   is  therefore 


HER  LIFE,  LETTERS,  AND  MEMORIES. 


257 


repeated  here  in  justice  to  her  memory  against  some 
unworthy  comments  which  were  made,  let  us  hope  in 
ignorance  of  the  true  state  of  the  case.  With  regard  to 
the  ovation,  Miss  Cushman  was  herself  perhaps  the  person 
who  knew  least  about  it  of  all  the  parties  concerned ; 
rumors  of  what  was  intended  reached  her  from  time  to 
time,  and  she  took  pains  to  utter  earnest  protests  against 
any  proceedings  which  seemed  to  her  exaggerated  or  want- 
ing in  true  dignity.  Whatever  was  carried  out  which 
could  be  so  characterized  was  contrary  to  her  wishes, 
though  she,  in  common  with  all  who  cared  for  her,  could 
not  but  be  deeply  impressed  by  the  depth,  warmth,  and 
enthusiasm  of  the  demonstration.  Under  all  its  aspects 
it  can  only  be  looked  upon  as  a  grand  testimonial ;  for 
such  expressions  of  feeling  cannot  even  be  got  wp  without 
a  true  and  solid  foundation. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

CHARLOTTE    CUSHMAN'S    FAREWELL    TO    NEW- 
YORK. 

"  My  Lords,  I  care  not  (so  much  I  am  happy 
Above  a  number)  if  my  actions 
Were  tried  by  every  tongue,  every  eye  saw  them. 
Envy  and  base  opinion  set  against  them, 
I  know  my  life  so  even." 

ffenri/  VTTI. 


HE  newspapers  gave  full  particulars  of  the  event, 
and  it  is  not  so  far  distant  that  it  is  not  well 
remembered ;  but  for  the  sake  of  those  who  come 
after  us,  to  whom  all  that  relates  to  Miss  Cushman  will 
soon  be  only  a  tradition,  I  insert  here  a  brief  abstract  of 
the  ceremonies  of  the  occasion. 

Eemembrance  will  long  bear  in  mind  the  incidents  of 
the  Saturday  night  at  Booth's  Theatre,  when  Charlotte 
Cushman  took  her  final  leave  of  the  metropolitan  stage. 
The  scene  was  one  of  quite  extraordinary  beauty  and  in- 
terest. The  spacious  theatre  was  crowded  in  every  part 
by  an  assemblage  comprising  all  that  is  most  worthy  and 
distinguished  in  our  civic  circle  of  literature,  art,  learning, 
and  society.  Faces  of  known  and  honored  persons  were 
seen  in  every  direction.  All  that  could  be  desired  of 
intellect  and  brilliancy  in  an  audience,  and  all  that  could 
be  devised  of  tasteful  accessories  for  a  great  occasion,  were 
gathered  and  provided  here,  and  the  occasion  proved  in 


HER  LIFE,  LETTERS,  AND   MEMORIES.  259 

every  way  worthy  of  the  motive  that  prompted  it,  the 
idea  that  it  celebrated,  and  the  anticipations  it  aroused. 

The  play  was  "Macbeth";  upon  the  performances  there  is 
here  no  reason  to  pause.  The  personation  has  passed  into 
history  as  one  of  the  greatest  dramatic  achievements  of 
our  age ;  and  the  word  for  the  hour  is  not  so  much  a 
recognition  of  its  established  excellence,  as  a  record  of  an 
ovation,  not  more  brilliant  than  deserved  to  illustrious 
genius  and  imperishable  renown. 

It  was  about  eleven  o'clock  when  the  curtain  fell  upon 
the  tragedy.  An  interval  ensued :  when  it  was  again 
lifted,  one  of  the  most  distinguished  companies  that  has 
ever  been  seen  in  a  public  place  came  into  view.  The 
stage  was  crowded  with  representative  faces  in  art,  litera- 
ture, and  the  drama.  The  venerable  head  of  William 
CuUen  Bryant  occupied  the  centre  of  the  group;  Mr. 
Charles  Eoberts,  who  had  been  selected  to  read  Mr.  Stod- 
dard's ode,  appeared  at  the  right  of  the  stand,  which  was 
composed  of  the  beautiful  floral  testimonials  offered  to 
Miss  Cushman. 

The  actress  herself,  who  had  doffed  her  tragic  robes, 
and  appeared  in  propria  persona  in  a  tasteful  dress  of 
steel-gray  silk,  simple  and  without  ornament,  entered 
amid  plaudits  which  shook  the  building,  and  took  her 
place  upon  the  left  of  the  stage,  and  the  ceremonies  of 
farewell  began  with  the  recitation  of  the  ode. 

SALVE,   REGINA. 

The  race  of  greatness  never  dies  ; 
Here,  there,  its  fiery  children  rise, 

Perform  their  splendid  parts, 

And  captive  take  our  hearts. 

Men,  women  of  heroic  mould, 
Have  overcome  us  from  of  old  ; 


260  CHAELOTTE  CUSHMAN  : 

Crowns  waited  then,  as  now, 
For  every  royal  brow. 

The  victor  in  the  Olympic  games,  — 
His  name  among  the  proudest  names 

"Was  handed  deathless  down  ; 

To  him  the  olive  crown. 

And  they,  the  poets,  grave  and  sage, 
Stem  mastere  of  the  tragic  stage, 
Who  moved  by  art  austere 
To  pity,  love,  and  fear,  — 

To  those  was  given  the  laurel  crown, 

"Whose  lightest  leaf  conferred  renown 

That  through  the  ages  fled 

StiU  circles  each  gray  head. 

But  greener  laurels  cluster  now, 
"World-gathered,  on  his  spacious  brow. 
In  his  supremest  place. 
Greatest  of  their  great  race,  — 

Shakespeare  !     Honor  to  him,  and  her 
"Who  stands  his  grand  interpreter, 

Stepped  out  of  his  broad  page 

Upon  the  living  stage. 

The  unseen  hands  that  shape  our  fate 
Moulded  her  strongly,  made  her  great, 
And  gave  her  for  her  dower 
Abundant  life  and  power. 

To  her  the  sister  Muses  came. 

Proffered  their  marks,  and  promised  fame  ; 

She  chose  the  tragic,  rose 

To  its  imperial  woes. 

What  queen  unqueened  is  here  ?  what  wife, 
Whose  long  bright  years  of  loving  life 
Are  suddenly  darkened  ?    Fate 
Has  crushed,  but  left  her  great. 


HER  LIFE,  LETTERS,  AND  MEMORIES.  261 

Abandoned  for  a  younger  face, 
She  sees  another  fill  her  place, 

Be  more  than  she  has  been,  — 

Most  wretched  wife  and  queen  ! 

0  royal  sufferer  !  patient  heart ! 
Lay  down  thy  burdens  and  depart ; 

*'  Mine  eyes  grow  dim.     Farewell," 

They  ring  her  passing-bell. 

And  thine,  thy  knell  shall  soon  be  rung, 
Lady,  the  valor  of  whose  tongue, 

That  did  not  urge  in  vain. 

Stung  the  in-esolute  Thane 

To  bloody  thoughts,  and  deeds  of  death,  — 
The  evil  genius  of  Macbeth  ; 

But  thy  strong  will  must  break, 

And  thy  poor  heart  must  ache. 

Sleeping  she  sleeps  not ;  night  betrays 
The  secret  that  consumes  her  days. 

Behold  her  where  she  stands 

And  rubs  her  guilty  hands. 

From  darkness,  by  the  midnight  fire, 
Withered  and  weird,  in  wild  attire, 

Starts  spectral  on  the  scene 

The  stem  old  gypsy  queen. 

She  croons  his  simple  cradle-song, 
She  will  redress  his  ancient  wrong,  — 

The  rightful  heir  come  back. 

With  murder  on  his  track. 

Commanding,  crouching,  dangerous,  kind, 
Confusion  in  her  darkened  mind, 

The  pathos  in  her  years 

Compels  the  soul  to  tears. 

Bring  laurel !  go,  ye  tragic  Three, 
And  strip  the  sacred  laurel-tree. 

And  at  her  feet  lay  down 

Here,  now,  a  triple  crown. 


262  CHARLOTTE  CUSHMAN : 

Salve,  Regina  !    Art  and  song, 
Dismissed  by  thee,  shall  miss  thee  long. 

And  keep  thy  memory  green,  — 

Our  most  illustrious  queen  ! 

Mr.  Bryant  then  delivered  the  following  address :  — 

"  Madam  :  The  members  of  the  Arcadian  Club  have  desired 
me  to  present  you  with  a  crown  of  laurel.  Although  of  late 
years  little  familiar  with  matters  connected  with  the  stage,  I 
make  it  a  pleasure  to  comply  with  their  request.  Be  pleased 
to  receive  it  as  both  a  token  of  their  proud  admiration  of  your 
genius  and  their  high  esteem  for  your  personal  character.  You 
remember  the  line  of  the  poet  Spenser,  — 

*  The  laurel,  meed  of  mighty  conquerors.' 

Well  is  that  line  applied  in  the  present  instance.  The  laurel 
is  the  proper  ornament  for  the  brow  of  one  who  has  won  so 
eminent  and  enviable  a  renown  by  successive  conquests  in  the 
realm  of  histrionic  art.  You  have  taken  a  queenly  rank  in  your 
profession ;  you  have  carried  into  one  department  of  it  after 
another  the  triumphs  of  your  genius ;  you  have  interpreted 
through  the  eye  and  ear  to  the  sympathies  of  vast  assem- 
blages of  men  and  women  the  words  of  the  greatest  dramatic 
writers ;  what  came  to  your  hands  in  the  skeleton  form  you 
have  clothed  with  sinews  and  flesh,  and  given  it  warm  blood 
and  a  beating  heart.  Receive,  then,  the  laurel  crown  as  a 
token  of  what  is  conceded  to  you,  as  a  symbol  of  the  regal 
state  in  your  profession  to  which  you  have  risen  and  so  illus- 
triously hold." 

Mr.  Bryant  then  tendered  her  a  laurel  wreath  bound 
with  white  ribbon,  which  rested  on  a  purple  velvet  cush- 
ion.    Embroidered  in  golden  letters  is  this  inscription :  — 

C.  C. 

"PALMAM  QUI  MERUIT  FERAT." 
18     A.  C.     74. 


HER  LIFE,  LETTERS,  AND   MEMORIES.  263 

The  letters  "  A.  C."  form  the  monogram  of  the  Arcadian 
Club.  Miss  Cushman  responded  to  this  address  in  the  fol- 
lowing words  :  — 

"  Beggar  that  I  am,  I  am  even  poor  in  thanks,  but  I  thank 
you.  Gentlemen,  the  heart  has  no  speech;  its  only  lan- 
guage is  a  tear  or  a  pressure  of  the  hand,  and  words  very 
feebly  convey  or  interpret  its  emotions.  Yet  I  would  beg  you 
to  believe  that  in  the  three  little  words  I  now  speak,  '  I  thank 
you,'  there  are  heart  depths  which  I  should  fail  to  express  better, 
though  I  should  use  a  thousand  other  words.  I  thank  you, 
gentlemen,  for  the  great  honor  you  have  offered  me.  I  thank 
you,  not  only  for  myself,  but  for  my  whole  profession,  to 
which,  through  and  by  me,  you  have  paid  this  very  graceful 
compliment.  If  the  few  words  I  am  about  to  say  savor  of 
egotism  or  vainglory,  you  will,  I  am  sure,  pardon  me,  inas- 
much as  I  am  here  only  to  speak  of  myself.  You  would  seem 
to  compliment  me  upon  an  honorable  life.  As  I  look  back 
upon  that  life,  it  seems  to  me  that  it  would  have  been  im- 
possible for  me  to  have  led  any  other.  In  this  I  have,  per- 
haps, been  mercifully  helped  more  than  are  many  of  my  more 
beautiful  sisters  in  art.  I  was,  by  a  press  of  circumstances, 
thrown  at  an  early  age  into  a  profession  for  which  I  had  re- 
ceived no  special  education  or  training ;  but  I  had  already, 
though  so  young,  been  brought  face  to  face  with  necessity. 
I  found  life  sadly  real  and  intensely  earnest,  and  in  ray 
ignorance  of  other  ways  of  study,  I  resolved  to  take  there- 
from my  text  and  my  watchword.  To  be  thoroughly  in  ear- 
nest^ intensely  in  earnest  in  all  my  thoughts  and  in  all  my 
actions,  whether  in  my  profession  or  out  of  it,  became  my 
one  single  idea.  And  I  honestly  believe  herein  lies  the  secret 
of  my  success  in  life.  I  do  not  believe  that  any  great  success 
in  any  art  can  be  achieved  without  it. 

"  I  say  this  to  the  beginners  in  my  profession,  and  I  am 
sure  all  the  associates  in  my  art,  who  have  honored  me  with 
their  presence  on  this  occasion,  will  indorse  what  I  say  in 
this.     Art  is  an  absolute  mistress ;  she  will  not  be  coquetted 


264  CHARLOTTE   CUSHMAN  : 

■with  or  slighted ;  she  requires  the  most  entire  self-devotion, 
and  she  repays  with  grand  triumphs. 

'*  To  you,  gentlemen  of  the  Arcadian  Club,  and  to  all  who 
have  united  to  do  me  honor,  —  to  the  younger  poet  who  has 
enthroned  me  in  his  verse,  and  to  the  older  poet  who  brings 
the  prestige  of  his  name  and  fame  to  add  a  glory  to  the  crown 
he  offers  me ;  to  the  managers  of  this  theatre,  who  have  so 
liberally  met  all  my  wishes  and  requirements  during  this 
engagement,  as  well  as  to  the  members  of  the  company  who 
have  so  cheerfully  seconded  my  efforts ;  and  last,  not  least,  to 
the  members  of  my  profession  who  have  so  graciously  added 
by  their  presence  to  the  happiness  of  this  occasion,  I  return 
my  cordial  thanks. 

"To  my  public  —  what  shall  I  sayl  From  the  depths  of 
my  heart  I  thank  you,  who  have  given  me  always  considera- 
tion, encouragement,  and  patience ;  who  have  been  ever  my 
comfort,  my  support,  my  main  help.  I  do  not  now  say  fare- 
well to  you  in  the  usual  sense  of  the  word.  In  making  my 
final  representations  upon  the  mimic  scene  in  the  various 
cities  of  the  country,  I  have  reserved  to  myself  the  right  of 
meeting  you  again  where  you  have  made  me  believe  that  I 
give  you  the  pleasure  which  I  receive  myself  at  the  same 
time,  —  at  the  reading-desk.  To  you,  then,  I  say,  may  you 
fare  well  and  may  I  fare  well,  until  at  no  distant  day  we 
meet  again  —  there.  Meanwhile,  good,  kind  friends,  good 
night,  and  God  be  with  you." 

The  ceremonies  of  this  notable  occasion  terminated  with 
a  serenade  and  display  of  fireworks  in  front  of  the  Fifth 
Avenue  Hotel,  where  many  friends  had  assembled  to  greet 
Miss  Cushman  on  her  return  from  the  theatre. 

I  find  in  one  of  Miss  Cushman's  own  letters  a  reference 
to  this  event,  which  shows  her  own  position  with  regard 
to  it. 

"  I  acted  eight  times  last  week,"  she  writes,  "  beside  that 
fearful  affair  after  the  play  on  Saturday.     They  say  such  a 


HER  LIFE,  LETTERS,  AND   MEMORIES.  265 

demonstration  has  never  been  made  before,  not  even  political. 
The  number  of  people  in  front  of  the  hotel  must  have  been 
near  25,000,  and  it  looked  exactly  like  the  Piazza  del  Popolo  at 
the  fireworks.  I  wish  the  children  could  have  seen  it ;  it  was  a 
thing  they  should  have  seen,  to  remember  in  connection  wdth 
their  *  big  mama.'  You  must  tell  them  all  about  it,  how  the 
■whole  big  square  in  front  of  the  Fifth  Avenue  Hotel  was 
crammed  with  human  beings.  They  could  not  move,  they 
were  so  densely  packed. 

"The  sight  in  the  theatre  was  magnificent.  Then  the 
ceremony  at  the  end,  which  had  made  me  sick  all  the  week, 
for  I  was  frightened  lest  I  should  forget  what  I  had  to  say. 
Then  I  did  not  know  what  they  were  going  to  do,  for  when  I 
would  protest  against  this  or  that  they  would  tell  me  it  should 
not  be,  and  yet  I  felt  sure  they  would  do  what  they  pleased ;  and 
so  it  turned  out ;  for,  though  I  had  said  if  they  carried  out  their 
plan  of  white  horses  and  escort  with  torches,  etc.,  I  would  re- 
main in  the  theatre  all  night,  yet,  when  I  got  into  my  car- 
riage at  the  private  (carpenters')  entrance  on  Twenty- third 
Street,  expecting  to  go  quietly  to  the  hotel,  where  I  had  in- 
vited private  friends  to  meet  me,  I  found  myself  surrounded 
by  a  mass  of  human  beings  with  torches  and  fireworks,  rockets 
sent  up  all  the  way  along  up  to  the  front  entrance  of  the 
hotel,  and  a  most  indescribable  noise  and  confusion.  The 
corridors  of  the  hotel  were  as  crowded  as  the  streets  outside, 
and  I  could  scarcely  make  my  way  along.  Then,  after  a  time, 
I  had  to  make  my  appearance  in  the  balcony,  and  then  the 
shouting  was  something  awful  to  hear.  I  was  ready  to  drop 
with  fatigue,  so  I  only  could  wave  my  handkerchief  to  them, 
and  went  in,  not  getting  to  my  bed  before  half  past  two." 

FAREWELL  TO   PHILADELPHIA. 

On  Saturday  afternoon,  November  14,  1874,  Miss 
Charlotte  Cushman  played  Meg  Merrilies,  and  on  Sat- 
urday evening,  Lady  Macbeth,  for  the  last  time,  before 


266  CHARLOTTE   CUSHMAN : 

the  Philadelphia  public.  On  each  occasion  the  Academy 
of  Music  was  crowded ;  the  audience  in  the  evening  being 
especially  noteworthy,  not  only  for  numbers,  but  for  dis- 
tinction. The  tragedy  was  finely  done  throughout,  and 
Miss  Cushman  was  admirably  supported.  After  the  aw- 
ful somnambulist  scene,  Miss  Cushman  was  summoned 
by  the  plaudits  of  the  audience,  and  came  forward  to  re- 
ceive many  magnificent  floral  testimonials.  The  tragedy 
then  proceeded  to  its  conclusion,  and  after  the  curtain  fell, 
in  answer  to  loud  demands,  Miss  Cushman  appeared,  trans- 
formed from  the  ghostly  figure  in  which  she  had  last  been 
seen  into  the  elegantly  dressed  lady  of  the  drawing-room. 
The  whole  vast  audience  rose,  applauding  and  cheering  as 
she  approached  the  footlights,  and  as  soon  as  silence  could 
be  obtained,  Miss  Cushman  spoke  as  follows :  — 

*'  Ladies  and  Gentlemen  :  Accustomed  as  I  am  to  speak 
before  you  the  impassioned  words  of  genius,  to  give  utterance 
to  the  highest  ideals  of  the  poet  and  the  dramatist,  I  yet  feel 
that  my  poor  tongue  must  falter  when  it  is  called  upon  to 
speak  for  itself  alone  so  sad  a  word  as  '  farewell,'  or  when  it 
tries  to  thank  you  fitly  for  all  your  kindness  to  me  in  the 
past,  for  all  the  honor  you  do  me  in  the  present.  I  have 
never  to  the  best  of  my  knowledge  and  belief  altered  a  line 
of  Shakespeare  in  my  life  ;  but  now,  in  taking  my  leave  of 
the  stage,  I  shall  beg  your  permission  to  paraphrase  him,  the 
more  fitly  to  express  what  I  would  say  to  you  ;  for  it  is  his 
peculiar  glory  that  none  other  in  the  whole  range  of  litera- 
ture has  written  w*ords  which  apply  more  fully  to  every  want 
of  the  soul,  to  every  feeling  of  the  heart.     Let  me  say,  then, 

partly  in  his  words, 

"All  my  service 
In  every  point  twice  done,  and  then  done  double, 
Were  poor  and  single  business  to  contend 
Against  these  honors,  deep  and  broad,  wherewith 
You  have  ever  loaded  me.     For  those  of  old, 
And  the  late  dignities  heaped  up  to  them, 
I  rest  your  debtor." 


HER  LIFE,  LETTERS,  AND  MEMORIES.  267 

"  In  the  earlier  part  of  my  professional  career  Philadelphia 
was  for  some  years  my  happy  home.  Here  I  experienced 
privately  the  greatest  kindness  and  hospitality,  publicly  the 
utmost  goodness  and  consideration  ;  and  I  never  come  to 
Philadelphia  without  the  affectionate  feeling  that  I  am  com- 
ing home,  and  to  my  family.  This  would  make  my  farewell 
too  hard  to  be  spoken,  were  it  not  that,  though  I  am  taking 
my  leave  of  the  stage,  I  have  reserved  to  myself  the  right  and 
the  pleasant  anticipation  of  appearing  before  you  where  you 
have  flattered  me  with  the  belief  that  my  efforts  are  not 
unacceptable  to  you,  —  at  the  reading-desk ;  until,  at  no  dis- 
tant day,  we  meet  again  there,  good  night,  and  all  good  be 
with  you." 

This  beautiful  address,  delivered  with  genuine  feeling 
and  matchless  elocution,  was  often  interrupted  with  ap- 
plause, which  warmly  followed  the  great  artist  as  she 
disappeared.  "When  the  vast  multitude  emerged  upon 
Broad  Street,  there  was  such  a  mass-meeting  as  that 
avenue  has  seldom  seen.  The  management  had  thought 
to  give  dclat  to  the  occasion  by  a  display  of  fireworks  in 
front  of  the  theatre.  The  object  of  this  demonstration 
quietly  went  out  of  the  theatre  by  the  stage  door  and 
drove  to  her  hotel,  while  the  vast  crowd  were  enjoying 
the  pyrotechnics  given  in  her  honor.  It  was  an  evening 
to  be  long  remembered. 

After  the  farewell  in  Philadelphia  Miss  Cushman  gave 
readings  in  Trenton,  Baltimore,  and  Washington,  at  which 
last  place,  owing  to  a  cold  hall  and  careless  arrangements 
for  her  comfort,  she  took  cold,  and  started  on  her  Western 
journey  already  suffering.  She  was  obliged  to  stop  short 
at  Cincinnati,  where  a  very  serious  illness  overtook  her, 
which  postponed  her  engagements  and  compelled  her  to 
abandon  her  projected  trip  to  California.  This  was  a 
great  disappointment  to  her ;  she  ardently  desired  to  see 


268  CHARLOTTE  CUSHMAN  : 

that  country,  and  make  the  acquaintance  of  its  people, 
but  it  was  too  late  ;  after  this  she  was  never  able  to  un- 
dertake the  journey ;  as  soon  as  she  was  sufficiently  re- 
covered, —  and  she  rose  up  from  these  violent  attacks  for 
a  long  time  in  a  wonderful  way, — she  gave  readings  at 
Chicago  and  Milwaukee,  Cleveland,  Buffalo,  and  Ithaca. 

December  18th  she  returned  to  New  York,  and  read  at 
Trenton,  Morristown,  Philadelphia,  Baltimore,  and  Wash- 
ington, 

Among  the  many  graceful  tributes  to  Miss  Cushman 
with  which  I  might  crowd  my  pages,  I  must  not  omit 
those  of  her  true  poet-friend,  Sidney  Lanier,  who,  though 
coming  into  the  circle  of  her  friendship  during  these  lat- 
ter years,  won  for  himself  there  a  warm  and  high  place. 
She  met  him  for  the  first  time  on  this  visit  to  Baltimore, 
and,  already  much  interested  in  him  through  his  writings, 
sought  his  acquaintance,  and  expressed  to  him  in  her 
wonted  earnest  way  the  pleasure  they  had  given  her. 
The  interest  with  which  she  inspired  him  he  has  en- 
shrined in  his  own  verses,  and  I  am  permitted  to  let  them 
speak  for  themselves. 

(With  a  copy  of  "  Corn.") 

TO  MISS  CHARLOTTE  CUSHMAN. 

0  what  a  perilous  waste  from  low  to  high, 

Must  this  poor  book  from  me  to  you  o'erleap,  — 

From  me,  who  wander  in  the  nights  that  lie 

About  Fame's  utmost  vague  foundations  deep, 

To  you,  that  sit  on  Fame's  most  absolute  height, 

Distinctly  starred,  e'en  in  that  awful  light  ! 

Sidney  Lanier. 
January  27, 1875. 

And  in  another  and  later  sonnet :  — 

TO  CHARLOTTE  CUSHMAN. 
Look  where  a  three-point  star  shall  weave  his  beam 
Into  the  slumbrous  tissue  of  some  stream, 


HER  LIFE,  LETTERS,  AND  MEMORIES.  269 

Till  his  bright  self  o'er  his  bright  copy  seem 

Fulfilment  dropping  on  a  come-trae  dream  ; 

So  in  this  night  of  art  thy  soul  doth  show 

Her  excellent  double  in  the  steadfast  flow 

Of  wishing  love  that  through  men's  hearts  doth  go  ; 

At  once  thou  shin'st  above  and  shin'st  below. 

E'en  when  thou  strivest  there  within  Art's  sky 

(Each  star  must  o'er  a  strenuous  orbit  fly). 

Full  calm  thine  image  in  our  love  doth  lie, 

A  motion  glassed  in  a  tranquillity. 

So  triple-rayed  thou  mov'st,  yet  stay'st,  serene,  — 

Art's  artist.  Love's  dear  woman.  Fame's  good  queen  ! 

Sidney  Lanier. 

And  again,  when  lie  published  a  volume  of  poems,  the 
deep  feeling  of  mingled  tenderness  and  admiration  which 
he  felt  for  her  finds  fit  utterance  in  the  "  Dedication." 

TO  CHARLOTTE  CUSHMAN. 

As  Love  will  carve  dear  names  upon  a  tree, 
Symbol  of  gravure  on  his  heart  to  be. 

So  thought  I  thine  with  loving  text  to  set 
In  the  growth  and  substance  of  my  Canzonet ; 

But,  writing  it,  my  tears  begin  to  fall  — 

This  wild-rose  stem  for  thy  large  name 's  too  small ! 

Nay,  still  my  trembling  hands  are  fain,  are  fain 
Cut  the  good  letters  though  they  lap  again  ; 

Perchance  such  folk  as  mark  the  blur  and  stain 
Will  say,  It  was  the  beating  of  the  rain  ; 

Or  haply  these  o'er-woundings  of  the  stem 
May  loose  some  little  balm,  to  plead  for  them. 

s.    L. 

On  the  5th  of  February,  1875,  she  read  in  Albany,  stop- 
ping with  Mr,  and  Mrs.  Frederick  Seward,  travelling  on  the 
8th  to  Chicago,  through  the  very  coldest  weather  of  the 
season,  and  acting  in  Chicago  from  the  15th  to  the  26th. 
On  the  27th  she  began  a  week's  engagement  in  Cincin- 


270  CHAKLOTTE  CUSHMAN  : 

nati,  and  on  the  7th  of  March  started  for  St.  Louis.  In 
consequence  of  a  heavy  snow-storm  she  missed  connec- 
tion at  Indianapolis,  and  was  detained  so  long  on  the 
road,  that  she  only  arrived  in  time  to  go  directly  to  the 
theatre  and  act  Lady  Macbeth  the  same  night.  This  was 
a  splendid  example  of  her  power  of  rising  above  difficulty 
in  the  discharge  of  duty.  Although  exhausted  by  a  long 
journey,  and  far  from  well,  she  could  not  disappoint  man- 
ager or  public.  After  a  slight  rest  and  refreshment  she 
went  upon  the  stage,  and  acted  Lady  Macbeth  so  that 
none  among  her  audience  knew  she  was  not  in  full  force, 
or  missed  anything  in  the  impersonation.  She  fulfilled 
her  engagement  of  five  nights ;  but  it  was  at  the  expense 
of  another  attack  of  iUness,  from  which  she  rose  up  to 
give  a  reading,  and  afterwards  to  read  and  act  at  Pitts- 
burgh and  Philadelphia,  —  in  the  latter  place,  to  an  au- 
dience of  three  thousand. 

During  this  period  of  rapid  movement  and  constant 
occupation  the  letters  are  only  brief  bulletins  of  her  state 
and  progress,  and  there  are  no  noteworthy  incidents  to 
chronicle ;  except  that  I  find  in  one  of  them  an  expres- 
sion of  her  pleasure  in  seeing  Eistori  act,  and  describing 
a  graceful  little  incident  which  occurred  on  one  of  these 
occasions.     She  writes  :  — 

"  I  have  been  to  the  theatre  two  nights  to  see  Ristori  in 
"  Elizabetta  "  and  "  Marie  Antoinette."  I  wished  for  you  very 
much  to  see  her  with  me.  She  is  the  greatest  female  artist  I 
have  ever  seen.  Such  perfect  nature,  such  ease,  such  grace, 
such  elegance  of  manner,  such  as  befits  a  queen.  On  Monday 
night  I  sat  in  the  director's  box,  holding  a  beautiful  bouquet 
of  roses  and  liUes  of  the  valley  for  her.  At  the  end  of  the  sec- 
ond act  she  was  called,  the  curtain  was  lifted,  and  she  came 
down  with  some  of  the  others.  As  I  lifted  the  bouquet  she 
saw  it  and  came  over  to  the  box.     She  is  near-sighted,  so  did 


HER  LIFE,  LETTERS,  AND   MEMORIES.  271 

not  recognize  me  until  she  came  near ;  then  she  gave  a  start 
toward  me,  saying,  '  Ah,  cara  arnica ! '  She  ahnost  put  her 
arms  around  me,  and  would  have  kissed  me  if  I  had  let  her. 
We  exchanged  words  to  know  where  each  was  staying,  the 
audience  all  this  while  applauding  tremendously.  Friends  say 
it  was  one  of  the  prettiest  sights  they  ever  saw,  and  the  audi- 
ence seemed  to  think  so.  She  came  to  see  me  yesterday,  and 
we  had  a  long,  long  talk  j  I  floundering  about  in  Italian,  and 
she  talking  like  an  angel.  Her  voice  is  the  most  lovely, 
and  her  mouth  the  most  fascinating,  after  Titiens,  of  any  ar- 
tist I  ever  saw.  The  '  Marie  Antoinette '  lasted  four  hours 
and  a  quarter.  I  am  sorry  to  miss  the  '  Lucrezia  Borgia '  to- 
night,  but  I  am  already  suffering  too  much  from  the  indul- 
gence. I  go  on  to  Baltimore  on  Saturday.  I  never  know 
what  I  can  do  till  I  try  [the  mot  dJordre  of  all  true  artists], 
and  I  shall  try  to  fulfil  my  engagements." 

FAREV7ELL  TO  BOSTON. 

Miss  Cushman's  farewell  to  the  Boston  public,  which 
took  place  on  the  15th  of  May,  1875,  was  an  occasion  of 
a  less  demonstrative  kind  than  that  of  New  York,  but, 
from  its  associations,  more  interesting.  She  appeared  as 
Lady  Macbeth,  and  "  never,"  as  the  chronicles  of  the  time 
have  borne  due  witness,  "  with  a  grander  force,  a  deeper 
intellectuality,  or  a  broader  sweep  of  passion  than  char- 
acterized this,  her  final  impersonation.  It  is  no  light 
thing  for  an  artist  to  bid  farewell  to  a  career  which  has 
been  the  loved  occupation  of  a  long  and  thoughtful  life, 
in  which  she  has  reigned  supreme  for  over  a  quarter  of  a 
century.  Nor  is  it  more  easy  when  she  is  aware  that  her 
genius  is  yet  undimmed  and  her  power  unabated.  Whether 
it  was  owing  to  the  associations  of  the  time  and  place  or 
not.  Miss  Cushman  seemed  to  throw  a  deeper  pathos  into 
her  efforts,  and  the  last  song  of  the  swan  appeared  to  all 
to  be  the  sweetest." 


272  CHARLOTTE   CUSHMAN : 

When  the  curtain  rose  again,  after  the  conclusion  of 
the  tragedy,  it  discovered  two  fine  bronze  copies  of  the 
celebrated  statues  of  Mercury  and  Fortune,  the  gifts  of 
a  number  of  Miss  Cushman's  friends  and  admirers,*  in- 
tended as  a  memento  of  the  occasion.  Miss  Cushman 
was  led  forward  by  Mr.  Arthur  Cheney,  a  number  of  gen- 
tlemen grouped  themselves  about  her,  and  Mr.  Curtis 
Guild  delivered  an  address,  from  which  I  make  the  fol- 
lowing extracts :  — 

**Miss  Cushman  and  Ladies  and  Gentlemen:  — 

"  The  retirement  from  the  dramatic  profession  of  one  who 
has  so  long  been  recognized  as  one  of  its  most  distinguished 
representatives,  and  who  has  done  so  much  to  elevate  dramatic 
art,  is,  in  itself,  an  event  of  more  than  ordinary  moment. 

"  But  when  it  occurs  here,  in  the  native  city  of  the  artist, 
and  among  those  who  have  followed  her  from  the  commence- 
ment of  her  eventful  career  with  hope  and  admiration,  and 
claimed  her  as  our  own  with  pride  at  its  culmination,  it  is  felt 
that  the  occasion  should  not  be  permitted  to  pass  without  an 
attempt  to  express,  in  the  most  decided  manner,  the  feelings 
of  her  many  friends,  who  deem  it  a  privilege  to  do  her  honor. 

"  Now  that  you  are  about  to  cast  aside  the  robes  of  the 
artist  forever,  to  abdicate,  not  resign,  the  dramatic  sceptre  of 
the  American  stage,  —  for  who  is  to  wield  that  which  you 
have  so  long  swayed  as  queen  ]  —  now  that  you  are  to  close 
your  eventful  and  successful  career  with  a  fame  honorably 
won  and  name  untarnished,  —  you  that  *  have  outstripped  all 
praise  and  made  it  halt  behind  you,'  —  it  is  not  surprising 
that  every  true  lover  of  dramatic  art  hastens  to  do  eager 
homage,  and  that  hosts  of  warm  and  hearty  friends  should 

*  In  consequence  of  Miss  Cushman's  house  being  already  overcrowded 
with  works  of  art  of  a  like  character,  and  also  innumerable  articles  still 
unpacked  for  want  of  space,  the  bronzes  above  mentioned  were,  with  the 
approval  of  all  concerned,  changed  for  a  tasteful  gift  in  silver. 


HER  LIFE,  LETTERS,  AND   MEMORIES.  273 

press  forward  for  the  last  hand-grasp  of  her  whom  they  honor 
and  respect. 

"  The  players'  profession,  we  well  know,  from  the  earliest 
days,  when  in  Greece  it  was  held  honorable  and  in  Rome  a  de- 
spised vocation,  has  been  assailed  by  fierce  opponents.  The 
great  poet  of  all  time  himself,  we  read  in  the  annals  of  the 
English  stage,  came  into  the  world  when  the  English  portion 
of  it  was  ringing  with  denunciations  against  the  profession 
which  the  child  in  his  humble  cradle  at  Stratford-on-Avon 
was  about  to  ennoble  forever.  We  need  not  go  back  as  far  as 
Shakespeare's  time  to  cite  the  fierce  opposition  that  the  drama 
has  encountered,  or  enumerate  the  obstacles  that  the  dramatic 
artist  must  overcome. 

"Let  us  remember,  however,  that  the  art  has  been  sanc- 
tioned by  the  great,  befriended  by  the  good,  and  supported  by 
the  people ;  and,  moreover,  bear  in  mind  that,  in  this  profes- 
sion, whose  members  are  in  the  full  blaze  of  public  observation 
and  scrutiny,  who  are  too  often  censured  without  reason  and 
condemned  without  excuse,  who  are  too  frequently  judged  as 
a  class  by  the  errors  of  individuals,  those  who  do  pass  the 
fiery  ordeal  unscathed,  who  stand  before  us  the  real  represent- 
atives of  the  dramatic  profession,  deserve  from  us  our  garlands 
as  the  exponents  of  a  great  and  glorious  art,  and,  upon  the 
present  occasion,  more  than  that,  —  the  high  regard  which 
genius,  combined  with  nobleness  of  mind  and  purity  of  char- 
acter, exacts  from  all  true  and  honest  hearts. 

"  We  come  here  to-night  to  accord  that  homage  which  genius 
does  not  ask,  but  commands  ;  to  give  you,  not  evidence  of  pop- 
ularity, —  mere  popularity,  —  which  is  as  the  brightness  of 
the  passing  meteor  or  the  fleeting  splendors  of  the  rainbow, 
but  to  express  our  appreciation  of  true  genius  and  the  mani- 
festation of  genuine  friendship. 

"  And  in  conclusion  let  me  say,  that  though  you  may  pass 
from  the  mimic  stage,  distant  be  the  day  when  your  exit  shall 
be  made  from  the  great  stage  on  which  men  and  women  all 
are  merely  players ;  though  you  may  not  have  our  hands  in 


274  CHARLOTTE  CUSHMAN  : 

future  before  the  curtain,  they  will  still  cordially  grasp  yours 
in  the  social  circle,  which  you  adorn  as  modestly  as  you  have 
upheld  the  dramatic  art  worthily  and  honorably ;  and  now, 
when  we  depart,  we  shall  each  and  all  of  us  remember  that, 

though 

*  Many  the  parts  you  played,  yet  to  the  end 
Your  best  were  those  of  sister,  lady,  friend.' " 

Miss  Cushman,  with  much  emotion,  replied  as  follows :  — 

'*  *  The  less  I  deserve. 
The  more  merit  lies  in  your  bounty.' 

"  Gentlemen  :  Your  unexpected  kindness  deprives  me  of 
all  words  in  which  to  thank  you,  and  the  few  I  can  find  will 
be  but  poor  and  feeble  expressions  of  what  I  feel.  But  I  would 
beg  you  to  believe  all  that  the  heart  prompts,  as  my  deep  and 
earnest  appreciation  of  the  honor  you  have  done  me.  It  is 
especially  grateful,  because  it  comes  to  me  here,  in  my  own 
native  city,  and  at  the  hands  of  those  who,  from  the  begin- 
ning to  the  end  of  my  career,  have  been  truly 

*  Brothers,  friends,  and  countrymen.' 

"  In  leaving  the  stage  finally,  it  has  always  been  my  inten- 
tion to  make  my  last  appearance  in  Boston ;  and  this  suggests 
to  me  a  little  explanation,  which,  with  your  permission,  I  would 
like  to  make  on  this  occasion.  It  has  been  implied,  if  not  de- 
clared, and  repeated  in  the  newspapers  about  the  country,  that 
I  should  not  have  appeared  again  upon  the  stage  after  the  great 
ovation  which  was  paid  to  me  in  New  York.  At  least,  so  the 
gentlemen  of  the  press  decided,  and  many  comments  have  been 
made  upon  me  in  the  papers  derogatory  to  my  dignity  as  a 
woman  and  my  position  as  an  artist.  I  have  passed  on,  in  the 
even  tenor  of  my  way,  little  regarding,  on  my  own  account, 
these  would-be  censors  and  judges ;  but  it  seems  to  me  proper 
that  I  should  explain  to  you^  in  whose  esteem  I  have  a  long- 
vested  interest,  which  must  not  be  endangered  without  a  strong 
and  earnest  protest  on  my  part,  that,  if  my  last  engagement 


HER  LIFE,  LETTERS,   AND  MEMORIES.  275 

in  New  York  was  announced  as  my  farewell  to  the  stage,  it 
was  done  by  no  act  or  will  or  word  of  mine.  I  had  no  such 
intention ;  indeed,  I  could  not  have  had ;  for  I  had  already 
made  many  other  engagements  for  the  season,  which  I  have 
been  endeavoring  to  fulfil,  concluding,  as  was  always  my  dear- 
est wish,  here,  in  my  own  city  of  Boston,  which  I  have  always 
dearly  loved,  and  where  I  would  rather  have  been  bom  than 
in  any  other  spot  of  the  habitable  globe. 

"  I  hope  I  have  not  tired  your  patience,  but  I  could  not  rest 
without  endeavoring  to  remove  even  the  shadow  of  a  shade 
which  might  cloud  the  perfect  harmony  between  me  and  my 
public,  who  I  hope  and  trust  will  accept  this  explanation  from 
me.  Looking  back  upon  my  career,  I  think  I  may,  *  without 
vainglory,'  say,  that  I  have  not  by  any  act  of  my  life  done  dis- 
credit to  the  city  of  my  birth." 

Then,  turning  to  the  gentlemen  of  the  committee  of 
presentation,  Miss  Cushman  continued :  — 

"So  now,  with  a  full  but  more  free  heart,  I  revert  to  you. 
To  this  last  beautiful  manifestation  of  your  good-will  towards 
me,  and  to  all  who  have  so  gmciously  interested  themselves  to 
do  me  this  honor,  I  can  but  say,  — 

'  More  is  their  due 
Than  more  than  all  can  pay. 

Believe  me,  I  shall  carry  away  with  me  into  my  retirement  no 
memory  sweeter  than  my  associations  with  Boston  and  my 
Boston  public. 

"  From  ray  full  heart,  God  bless  you,  and  farewell." 

The  chronicle  continues :  — 

"The  curtain  then  fell  and  the  audience  departed.  And 
thus  was  seen  the  last  of  the  great  artist  in  a  sphere  which 
she  has  so  long  and  so  well  adorned.  She  has  quitted  it 
with,  we  hope,  many  years  of  life  and  happiness  before  her, 
to  enjoy  the  repose  she  has  so  worthily  earned.  *  Hail,  and 
farewell!'" 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

"  Bounty,  perseverance,  mercy,  lowliness, 
Devotion,  patience,  courage,  fortitude." 

Macbeth. 

Where  words  are  scarce,  they  're  seldom  spent  in  vain. 
For  they  breathe  truth,  that  breathe  their  words  in  pain." 

Richard  II. 


FTER  the  farewell  in  Boston  on  May  15,  1875, 
Miss  Cushman  went  on  a  short  reading-tour  to 
Rochester,  Buffalo,  Syracuse,  Auburn,  and  Ithaca. 
On  June  2d  she  read  at  Easton,  Pennsylvania,  and  from 
there  she  went  for  a  few  days  to  Lenox,  Massachusetts, 
where  she  was  much  interested  in  altering:  and  furnishing 
a  small  cottage,  to  which  she  hoped  to  retreat  in  the  late 
days  of  summer,  when  the  damp  heat  of  Newport  became 
oppressive  and  baleful  to  her,  and  when  a  change  from 
the  sea  to  mountain  air  seemed  desirable. 

The  pleasure  and  enjoyment  she  found  in  this  small 
spot  were  delightful  to  see  ;  all  its  appointments  were  of  a 
simple,  homely  kind,  which  added  the  charm  of  contrast 
to  the  elegant  attractions  of  her  Newport  home.  She 
brought  with  her  there  the  same  simplicity  of  taste  and 
adaptability  to  her  surroundings  which  made  for  her  a 
home  w^herever  she  might  be.  She  always  enjoyed  a 
return  to  the  modest  housekeeping  of  her  early  days, 
when  Sallie  and  herself  used  to  rough  it  so  contentedly 
together.     Everything  interested  her,  on  the  small  scale 


HER  LIFE,  LETTERS,  AND  MEMORIES.  277 

as  on  the  large  one ;  her  mind  was  busy,  active,  sugges- 
tive, and  full  of  purpose  and  euergy.  She  had  no  room 
for  petty  cares  or  trivial  conventionalities ;  she  made  her 
surroundings  suitable  and  appropriate,  and  where  she  was, 
no  one  ever  thought  of  anything  else. 

The  little  place  would  have  been  as  complete  in  its 
way  as  the  larger  one  if  her  life  had  been  spared;  but 
she  was  only  permitted  to  enjoy  a  few  days  of  it  at  this 
time,  and  again  later  in  the  season,  a  few  weeks,  after  a 
long  and  severe  illness  at  Newport,  which  for  a  time 
seemed  to  make  it  doubtful  if  she  might  ever  see  it  again. 
Part  of  July  and  all  of  August  she  was  prostrated  by  what 
seemed  to  be  a  kind  of  intermittent  fever,  with  malarial 
symptoms,  accompanied  by  aggravations  of  her  especial 
malady,  which  made  it  a  very  suffering  time.  In  the 
early  part  of  September,  however,  she  rallied  again,  and 
gained  strength  enough  to  make  the  journey  to  Lenox. 
There  the  fresh  breezy  air  of  the  Berkshire  hills,  the 
mountain  drives,  and  the  short  walks  she  was  soon  able 
to  take,  acted  like  a  charm  upon  her,  and  speedily  gave 
her  back  some  measure  of  strength  and  appetite. 

But,  pleasant  as  she  found  it,  here  as  always  "  a  divided 
duty  "  was  warring  against  the  good  influences  about  her. 
She  had  made  up  her  mind  to  put  herself  again  under 
special  medical  treatment,  and  on  October  7th  she  returned 
to  Boston  for  her  last  winter. 

The  last  winter  was  passed  at  the  Parker  House,  un- 
der medical  treatment ;  bearing  up  steadfastly,  enduring 
pain  bravely  and  heroically,  and  finding  her  best  relief 
in  the  giving  out  of  herself  for  the  help  and  comfort  oi 
others.  How  many  will  remember  those  days,  who  came 
to  her  with  their  sorrows  and  left  her  cheered,  com- 
forted, and  instructed.  Until  within  two  days  of  her 
death  she  sent  a  daily  bulletin  of  her  condition,  written 


278  CHAKLOTTE  CUSHMAN : 

in  pencil  with  her  own  hand  to  her  family  at  Newport. 
This  was  her  first  act  in  the  morning  after  taking  her 
breakfast.  The  daily  notes  vary  in  character :  sometimes 
hopeful,  as  a  better  day  comes  and  the  cheerful,  sanguine 
nature  gets  a  little  lift ;  at  others  sad  and  depressed,  but 
never  failing  in  loving  interest  in  whatever  concerns  the 
dear  ones  she  watched  over  so  tenderly.  To  the  daily 
guests  and  intimate  companions  she  was  so  generally 
cheerful,  so  forgot  herself  in  the  intellectual  and  social 
stimulus  which  she  enjoyed  and  needed,  that  no  one  could 
dream  of  so  sudden  a  departure.  There  were  always 
anxious  fears  alternating  with  almost  despairing  hopes, 
but  no  anticipation  of  such  a  sudden  loosening  of  the 
cords  of  so  strong  a  life.  Of  those  who  had  borne  with 
her  so  long  the  "  burden  and  heat  of  the  day  "  all  were  so 
much  under  the  influence  of  her  brave  spirit,  that  it  was 
impossible  to  believe  other  than  she  did ;  and  even  so  late 
as  February  3d  she  speaks  of  the  possibility  of  her  yet 
going  to  California. 

It  was  most  merciful  that  such  should  be  the  case,  for 
all  about  her  loved  her  so  they  could  not  have  borne  up 
under  the  belief  that  she  must  soon  go  from  them.  It 
was  a  sufficiently  heavy  trial,  —  the  long,  long  suspense, 
the  aching  sympathy,  and  pity  so  intense  as  to  be  almost 
unendurable.  She  was  so  sweet,  so  faithfully  loving,  so 
ready  to  accept  whatever  came  of  comfort  or  alleviation, 
so  full  of  interest  and  bright  intelligence,  alive  and  awake 
to  all  the  topics  of  the  time,  that  her  sick-room  was  the 
most  interesting  place  in  the  world;  and  those  whose 
privilege  it  was  to  find  admission  there  sat  lost  in  won- 
dering love  and  reverent  admiration. 

On  December  24th  Miss  Cushman  writes  more  despond- 
ingly  than  usual,  more  freely  of  her  sufferings ;  but,  as 
usual,  with  the  cry  comes  also  the  word  of  resignation. 


HER  LIFE,  LETTERS,  AND   MEMORIES.  279 

"  This  is  not  the  greeting  you  should  have  for  your  Christ- 
mas ;  but  it  is  better  you  should  know  exactly  where  I  am, 
and  that  we  may  have  to  defer  the  celebration  of  our  Christ- 
mas to  another  and  happier  day.  Just  feel  as  though  to-mor- 
row was  any  common  day,  —  for  is  not  Christ  here  to  us  every 
day  1  And  we  will  show  our  belief  in  this  by  trying  to  have 
faith  and  trust,  and  make  the  celebration  of  it  when  that  trust 
and  faith  are  borne  out  and  justified  by  time  !  I  grieve  for 
you,  dear,  more  than  for  myself,  though  I  am  a  dreadful  baby 
over  my  pain.  It  is  very  hard  for  you ;  but  the  hard  places 
must  come  in  our  lives,  and  perhaps  we  should  not  know  how 
to  enjoy  the  pleasures,  but  for  the  corresponding  gloom  of  the 
pains  of  life.  Keep  up  a  good  heart.  You  are  loved  and 
thought  of  as  you  would  be,  and  that  must  give  you  courage 
for  the  battle  which  is  before  you  as  before  us  all !  " 

In  a  letter  written  on  Christmas  day  she  says  :  — 

"  The  doctor  is  very  hopeful,  and  says  I  am  better.  When 
I  hear  him  talk,  I  am  ashamed  that  I  give  way  under  pain 
and  cause  such  suffering  to  those  who  love  me ;  but  I  cannot 
help  it.  It  is  beyond  me,  and  those  who  love  me  must  bear 
with  me,  and  if  I  ever  get  well  I  will  repay  them  with  interest 
in  mirthfulness  and  joy,  until  they  shall  wonder  at  the  merry 
old  woman  !  Your  dear  letter,  with  Nino's  book-mark,  so 
beautifully  embroidered,  and  my  darling  big  boy's  beautiful 
letter  and  book-marker,  all  came  to  me  last  night  and  com- 
forted me.  I  like  the  children  to  make  me  little  bits  of  things 
rather  than  anything  else.  Give  them  my  dear  Christmas  love 
and  wishes.  I  will  write  to  them  before  New  Year's  day.  How 
did  they  like  their  presents  ?  I  hope  well.  This  morning  came 
Will's  comfortable  foot-rug ;  dear  Ned's  foot-muff,  for  carriage 
driving ;  your  lovely  head-dress,  which  I  am  disporting  in  a 
sort  of  mockery ;  it  is  too  beautiful  for  such  suffering  as  mine. 
My  dear  friend  Annie  S sent  me  a  beautiful  pot  of  carna- 
tions ;  L H a  lovely  china  cup  and  saucer  and  plate. 

Sallie  gave  me  a  bowl  which  matched  it  perfectly.    Mr.  Parker 


280  CHARLOTTE  CUSHMAN : 

sent  up  an  immense  bunch  of  mistletoe,  which  I  have  dis- 
tributed among  my  curious  friends,  where  it  will  make  fun. 

Mrs.   C sends  a  crown  and  cross  in  immortelles;   Mr. 

A ,  a  charming  book  of  his  wanderings  in  Egypt ;  Mr. 

T ,  flowers ;  Mrs.  H B ,  flowers ;  indeed,  I  have 

not  room  to  tell  you  all  the  kindness  and  good- will.  Tell 
Will,  with  my  dear  love,  that  her  little  foot-rug  comforts  my 
feet  at  this  moment ;  my  foot-muff  gazes  at  me  with  open 
mouth  from  the  comer ;  my  book-markers  are  on  my  photo- 
graph board.     All  are  sweetly  welcome  and  much  prized." 

A  note  from  another  hand,  speaking  of  this  time,  is  not 
so  cheerful.  She  had  been  much  more  ill  before  Christmas, 
and  had  made  her  usual  effort  to  be  equal  to  the  day  and 
the   occasion,  as  is  evident  in  the  foregoing  letter.     It 


"  I  could  not  write  you  a  word  of  greeting  for  Christmas, 
because  I  could  not  do  so  cheerfully.  You  know  how  deep 
down  in  our  slough  of  despond  we  have  been,  and  it  was  as 
much  as  I  could  do  to  bear  up  for  our  daily  needs.  Yet  I 
have  been  sustained  by  something  above  and  beyond  myself, 
else  I  could  not  have  kept  up.  Now,  this  morning,  I  am  glad 
to  be  able  to  send  you  a  more  hopeful  word.  I  know  so  well 
what  it  is  to  be  at  a  distance  from  those  we  love  when  they  are 
suffering.  I  feel  it  even  when  I  go  into  the  streets  here  ;  the 
rush  of  life  and  health  hurts  in  the  ever-present  thought  of  the 
dear  and  precious  one  alone  and  in  pain.  I  hurry  back  to  her, 
finding  my  only  comfort  in  the  nearness,  and  in  the  small, 
small  ways  wherein  I  can  try  to  be  of  help  and  comfort. 
Your  letter  of  last  night  made  me  feel  how  much  more  happy 
I  am  than  you,  in  possessing  this  privilege,  and  I  felt  the  need 
of  telling  you  my  sympathy. 

"  We  have  had  a  pleasant  Christmas  within,  though  gray 
and  dismal  without ;  all  our  little  gifts  are  placed  about,  and 
look  lovely ;  my  heavenly  blue  jacket  seems  to  hold  out  its 
arms  to  me,  full  of  celestial  influences.     Thank  the  dear  little 


HER  LIFE,  LETTERS,  AND   MEMORIES.  281 

boys  for  me  for  their  pretty  gifts.  I  wish  I  were  a  fairy  god- 
mother for  their  sakes.  The  room  is  quite  a  bower  with 
flowers  and  Christmas  greens ;  the  mantel  and  every  available 
place  is  adorned  with  charming  little  things,  and  our  dear  one 
has  been  pleased  and  happy  in  them.  You  will  see  by  all 
this  that  the  good  genius  of  Christmas  has  not  forsaken  us 
yet ;  and  you  will  be  pleased  to  know  that  flowers  and  pleasant 
things  can  yet  find  an  echo  in  our  souls." 

Early  in  January  Miss  Cushman's  sufferings  were 
much  aggi'avated,  and  for  a  time  she  seemed  to  be  run- 
ning down  rapidly :  appetite  and  sleep  failed,  and  hope 
and  trust  almost  departed  ;  our  hearts  were  heavy  indeed. 
It  was  at  this  time  that  she  made  all  the  arrangements 
which  were  afterwards  carried  out  for  her  funeral  services, 
naming  those  whom  she  wished  to  be  pall-bearers,  and 
fixing  upon  King's  Chapel  for  her  burial-services.  With 
all  her  own  calm  forethought  she  entered  minutely  into 
the  details,  which  seemed  afterwards  most  providential, 
because,  when  the  event  really  came,  it  was  so  compara- 
tively sudden  that  there  was  no  opportunity  for  such 
instructions.  She  had  already  purchased  and  prepared  a 
plot  at  Mount  Auburn,  rejoicing  much,  when  she  visited 
it  for  the  first  time,  that  it  commanded  a  view  of  "  dear 
Boston,"  and  talking  over  its  site  and  its  beauty  with  a 
cheerful  brightness  peculiarly  her  own. 

After  this  she  again  rallied,  and  was  so  much  better  for 
several  weeks  that  hope  again  sprang  up  in  our  hearts. 

In  a  letter  as  late  as  January  27th,  alluding  to  a  friend's 
sorrows  she  writes  :  — 

"  Ah,  I  am  ashamed  of  the  outcry  I  have  made  over  mere 
physical  pain,  when  the  world  is  so  full  of  *  carking  care,' 
which  corrodes  the  soul !  God  forgive  me  for  fretting  and 
complaining.  I  have  not  known  what  else  to  do,  and  impo- 
tence is  my  curse  and  cross.     Ah,  please  his  infinite  mercy 


282  CHARLOTTE  CUSHMAN : 

that  I  am  ever  well  again,  will  we  not  be  happy  and  good,  and 
love  him  more  and  more  day  by  day  % " 

In  another  letter  of  the  30th  she  writes :  — 

"  I  hardly  think  you  or  any  one  dream  how  I  love  those  dear 
children ;  how  my  own  belongings  make  up  my  world  of  love 
and  faith.  The  rest  of  the  world  are  more  or  less  agreeable, 
as  givers-out  or  recipients,  and  so  are  more  or  less  acceptable. 
I  am  sympathetic,  and  so  more  a  lover  of  my  kind  than  most 
people  ;  hence  I  must  see  people,  and  it  is  useless  to  attempt 
to  box  me  up.  I  cannot  be  saved  in  this  respect,  and  it  is 
folly  to  try." 

This  is  in  reference  to  well-meant  but  mistaken  endeav- 
ors to  save  her  from  some  of  the  fatigues  to  which  she 
subjected  herself  by  the  social  influences  she  drew  about 
her.  More  than  ever  in  her  decline  was  she  attractive 
and  fascinating.  The  light  burned  more  and  more  brightly 
as  it  approached  its  extinction,  and  every  moment  she 
could  give  to  the  friends  who  surrounded  her,  and  were 
only  too  happy  to  sit  at  her  feet,  was  absorbed  and  en- 
joyed to  the  utmost. 

From  a  letter  of  February  4th  I  take  an  extract  refer- 
ring to  Miss  Cushman's  life  and  surroundings  at  this  time. 

"  We  were  hoping  that  this  morning  would  bring  us  a  letter 
from  you ;  but  since  it  has  not,  the  next  best  thing  is  to  send 
you  one  on  this  good  day  which  keeps  us  in  and  other  people 
out,  for  it  is  snowing.  Old  winter  has  been  trying  again  to  be 
winterly,  and  has  deposited  snow  to  about  the  depth  of  five 
inches.  The  pigeons  and  sparrows  are  somewhat  inconven- 
ienced by  it :  the  former,  because  they  sink  into  it,  being  round 
and  fat  with  much  feeding ;  and  the  latter,  whose  light  weight 
enables  them  to  hop  over  it,  because  the  bread  thrown  to  them 
drops  down  beneath  the  surface.  One  large  piece  of  roll  made 
a  sort  of  well  in  the  snow,  deep  enough  to  ingulf  two  small 
sparrows  at  once.     C lies  in  her  bed  in  the  morning  and 


HER  LIFE,  LETTERS,  AND   MEMORIES.  283 

looks  out  upon  the  opposite  roof  where  we  feed  the  creatures, 
and  the  first  thing  that  must  be  done  is  to  give  them  their 
breakfast,  for  which  they  are  always  waiting.  They  are  so 
tame  now,  that  when  the  expected  meal  is  delayed  they  crowd 
the  window-sill,  and  as  the  morning  sun  pours  into  these  win- 
dows they  are  pleasant  objects,  with  their  burnished  necks  and 
bright  glancing  eyes. 

"  I  promised  once  to  give  you  a  description  of  our  sitting- 
room  ;  it  has  four  windows  in  it,  looking  towards  the  southeast 
and  north;  those  on  the  north  have  double  glass,  and  the 
southern  ones  admit  the  morning  sun  in  floods  up  to  twelve 
o'clock.  The  prospect  from  these  windows  is  not  at  all  ugly ; 
it  is  open,  and  commands  a  view  of  some  fine  buildings.  Op- 
posite, on  the  north,  is  the  City  Hall,  a  handsome  building, 
very  bright  and  cheery  at  night,  when  its  windows  are  all 
lighted  up.  It  has  a  large  and  spacious  courtyard  with  grass 
plots  and  large  trees,  and  on  one  side  is  a  very  good  bronze 
statue  of  Franklin,  who  stands  with  his  cocked  hand  under 
his  arm,  and  has  on  at  this  moment  a  hood  and  cape  of 
snowy  white,  in  which  he  looks  very  funny.  Next  to  the 
City  Hall  comes  in  well  the  gable-end  of  King's  Chapel,  one 
of  the  oldest  churches  in  Boston,  with  a  steep  slate  roof  and 
a  projecting  semicircular  bit  at  the  end,  with  a  sloping  roof  of 
its  own,  where  our  pigeons  sit  and  sun  and  plume  themselves, 
and  where  they  apparently  belong.  All  over  the  wall  are 
vines,  now  leafless,  where  the  sparrows  haunt  and  keep  up  an 
endless  twitter.  The  windows  toward  the  southeast  look  over 
the  roofs  of  the  meaner  buildings,  and  command  a  view  of  the 
new  Boston  post-office,  which  has  a  sufficiently  massive  and 
varied  outline  to  be  quite  picturesque.  In  this  direction  there 
are  other  fine  distant  buildings,  many  steeples,  and  a  perfect 
forest  of  vanes,  which  light  up  in  a  wonderful  manner  in  the 
setting  sunlight.  You  perhaps  will  care  more  for  the  inside 
than  the  outside  of  our  room ;  so  I  must  turn  your  attention 
inward.  In  one  corner  is  the  writing-table,  and  over  it  hangs 
the  frame  of  photographs,  a  contrivance  of  C 's  own,  being 


284  CHAELOTTE  CUSHMAN  : 

a  board  of  about  a  yard  and  a  half  long  by  three  quarters 
broad,  covered  with  purple  cloth,  and  hung  up  by  gilt  chains 
like  a  picture.  Upon  this  are  fastened  the  photographs  with 
artists*  pins.  It  has  already  a  goodly  collection,  and  has 
proved  a  great  success.  To  the  left  of  the  table,  over  the 
sofa,  the  bare  wall  is  covered  up  with  some  Japanese  paintings 
of  flowers  ;  farther  on  a  door  is  decorated  with  autumn  leaves, 
and  opposite,  another  door  has  one  of  those  pictures  of  a  Jap- 
anese lady  walking  in  the  snow,  with  an  umbrella.  The  man- 
tel is  covered  with  pretty  objects  in  china  and  glass,  pictures, 
and  vases  with  flowers,  of  which  there  is  an  unceasing  supply. 
At  the  end  of  the  room  is  a  large  pier-glass,  and  in  front  of  it 
stands  dear  Charlotte's  easy  (or  unecLsy)  chair  and  her  little 
table,  where  she  sits  now  from  morning  till  night,  except  for 
the  hour  or  two  after  four  o'clock  when  she  takes  her  rest. 
She  reads  a  great  deal,  and  occasionally  writes,  as  you  know. 
Our  days  pass  swiftly  in  their  regular  routine ;  she  receives 
any  intimate  friends  who  come,  and  there  are  many." 

During  the  early  part  of  February  Miss  Cushman 
seemed  to  be  much  better.  It  was  not  until  the  12th 
that  in  her  last  walk  along  the  corridor  of  the  hotel  she 
took  the  cold  from  some  insidious  draught  wliich  event- 
uated in  her  death  on  the  morning  of  the  18th. 

Those  last  days  were  almost  painless.  She  did  not  at 
all  realize  the  hopelessness  of  her  condition,  until  uncon- 
sciousness of  everything  mercifully  came,  to  save  her  the 
pang  of  parting,  and  the  hopeless  grasp  at  what  she  was 
leaving  behind  her. 

On  the  night  before  her  death  she  asked  to  have  the 
poem  of  "  Columbus  "  read  to  her,  and  was  able,  when 
the  eyes  of  the  reader  failed  in  the  dim  light,  to  prompt 
the  missing  word  or  line ;  she  was  interested  in  one  whom 
she  believed  was  a  discoverer,  and  with  whom  she  traced 
an  analogy  to  the  character  of  Columbus  as  depicted  in  the 
poem.     It  was  almost  her  last  wish  that  the  volume  of 


HER  LIFE,  LETTERS,  AND  MEMORIES.  285 

Lowell  containing  this  poem  should  be  presented  in  her 
name  to  the  person  in  question.  Among  the  newspaper 
cuttings  of  the  time,  the  following  lines  bear  reference  to 
this  incident,  and  were  suggested  by  it :  — 

'*  For  wast  not  thou,  too,  going  forth  alone 
To  seek  new  land  across  an  untried  sea  ? 
New  land,  —  yet  to  thy  soul  not  all  unknown, 
Nor  yet  far  off,  was  that  blest  shore  to  thee. 

**  For  thou  hadst  felt  the  mighty  mystery 

That  on  man's  heart  and  life  doth  ever  rest, 
A  shadow  of  that  glorious  world  to  be. 

Where  love's  pure  hope  is  with  fruition  blest. 

**  Thine  was  a  conflict  none  else  knew  but  God, 
Who  gave  thee,  to  endure  it,  strength  divine  : 
Alone  with  him  the  wine-press  thou  hast  trod, 
And  Death,  his  angel,  seals  the  victory  thine. 

"  The  narrow  sea  of  death  thou  now  hast  passed  ; 

The  mist  is  lifted  from  the  unseen  land  ; 

The  voyage  ends,  the  shining  throng  at  last 

Meet  thee  with  welcome  on  the  heavenly  strand. 

"C.  T.  B." 

God  was  very  good  to  us  all  in  the  manner  of  her  death, 
whereby  the  merciful  sequence  of  her  hopeful  fortitude 
was  never  broken  down,  and  we  were  not  called  upon  to 
see  one  moment  of  weakness  in  the  heroic  picture  of  her 
last  days. 

For  an  hour  on  the  day  of  the  funeral  the  people  were 
permitted  to  pass  through  the  room  where  she  lay,  the 
sublime  serenity  of  the  last  peace  upon  her  noble  face,  for 
the  first  time  failing  to  respond  in  sympathy  with  the 
grief  around  her  ;  for  the  first  time  in  all  her  long  career 
insensible  to  the  affectionate  demonstrations  of  those  she 
loved,  who  in  the  midst  of  the  overwhelming  sense  of 
bereavement  could  not  but  feel,  and  thank  God,  that  their 
loss  was  her  gain.  The  funeral  ceremonies  took  place 
according  to  her  wish  in  King's  Chapel,  and  were  simple 


286  CHARLOTTE  CUSHMAN  ; 

and  sweet  and  touching  with  the  heartfelt  feeling  which 
surrounded  her  always,  and  found  deeper  and  more  spon- 
taneous expression  after  her  death.  The  flowers  that  she 
loved  covered  her,  —  children's  hands  laid  them  upon  her 
coffin ;  above  her  head,  the  inscription  on  the  chancel 
wall  — "  This  is  my  commandment  unto  you,  that  ye  love 
one  another "  —  seemed  to  be  speaking  to  all  the  lesson 
of  her  life,  and  to  be  drawing  all,  with  still  greater  force 
than  even  her  living  presence  had  done,  into  the  magic 
circle  of  "  peace  and  good  will." 

All  that  was  mortal  of  Charlotte  Cushman  rests  beneath 
the  sod  at  Mount  Auburn,  but  no  one  who  ever  knew  her 
can  think  of  her  as  there.  Our  spirits  do  not  seek  her  in 
the  dust ;  no  thought  of  her  can  ever  be  associated  with 
the  grave ;  and  so  our  hearts  are  not  cast  down,  but  only 
elevated  by  the  thought  that  she  has  escaped  the  bondage 
and  sufferings  of  the  flesh,  and  is  rising  ever  "  upward  and 
onward." 

"  Not  to  the  grave,  not  to  the  grave,  my  soul, 
Descend  to  contemplate 
The  form  that  once  was  dear  ! 

The  spirit  is  not  there 
Which  kindled  that  dead  eye, 
Which  throbbed  in  that  cold  heart, 
Which  in  that  motionless  hand 
Once  met  thy  friendly  grasp. 
The  spirit  is  not  there  ! 
Not  to  the  grave,  not  to  the  grave,  my  soul. 
Follow  thy  friend  beloved  ; 
The  spirit  is  not  there  ! 
*  *  ♦ 

But  in  the  lonely  hour, 
But  in  the  evening  walk. 
Think  that  she  companies  thy  solitude  ; 
Think  that  she  holds  with  thee 
Mysterious  intercourse  ! 
And  though  remembrance  wake  a  tear, 
There  will  be  joy  in  grief." 

SOUTHEY. 


CHAPTER   XIV. 

TRIBUTES  TO  HER  MEMORY. 

*'  Close  up  his  eyes  and  draw  the  curtain  close, 
And  let  us  all  to  meditation." 

Henry  VI. 


EOM  among  the  warm  and  spontaneous  tributes 
which  were  called  forth  by  her  death,  many  are 
worthy  to  be  rescued  from  the  ephemeral  life  of 
the  newspaper  and  find  a  more  permanent  record  here. 
There  was  something  very  remarkable  and  deeply  touch- 
ing in  the  unanimity,  the  earnestness,  and  the  respect  with 
which  the  press  of  the  entire  country  bore  witness  to  her 
greatness  and  laid  their  tributes  upon  her  tomb.  Earely 
has  it  been  given  to  one  individuality  to  call  forth  so 
wide  and  heartfelt  a  recognition.  Touched  by  death's 
magic  alchemy,  whatever  remnant  of  human  misjudgment, 
prejudice,  or  ignorance  still  lingered,  marring  the  perfect 
image  of  her  fame,  vanished  away,  leaving  the  virgin  gold 
tried  in  the  furnace  of  affliction  and  purified  until  it  re- 
flected God's  image  to  speak  only  its  true  and  perfect 
lesson. 

Even  the  old  accusation,  that  she  made  too  many  fare- 
wells, is  gently  and  kindly  lifted  from  her  memory  by  the 
hand  of  her  true  friend  and  lover,  William  Winter.  In 
the  notice  from  which  we  quote  farther  on  he  says  :  — 


288  CHARLOTTE  CUSHMAN: 

"  It  is  not  difficult  to  understand  when  we  consider  that 
Miss  Cushman  was  a  woman  of  weird  genius,  sombre  imagina- 
tion, and  great  sensibility,  that  for  her  conscientious  mind  and 
highly  nervous  organization  the  practice  of  the  dramatic  art 
was  terribly  earnest ;  and  that  frequently  she  was  the  victim 
of  disease,  in  which  way  she  often  came  to  believe  that  the 
limit  of  her  labor  was  reached,  that  the  end  of  her  life  was 
near,  and  that  her  retirement  from  the  public  view  was  need- 
ful. With  natures  that  see  widely  and  feel  deeply,  such  de- 
spondent views  of  personal  destiny  and  worldly  affairs  are  not 
unusual.  Thackeray,  long  before  he  wrote  *  The  Newcomes/ 
said  of  himself  that  his  work  was  done,  and  he  should  accom- 
plish no  more.  In  the  several  farewells  that  she  took  of  the 
stage  Miss  Cushman  acted  like  a  woman,  and  precisely  like 
the  woman  she  was.  All  of  her  adieus  were  sincere.  None 
of  them,  till  now,  were  final  or  possible.  Let  us  bring  to  the 
coffin  of  this  great  genius,  dead  and  at  rest  after  such  trials 
and  such  anguish,  not  only  the  gentleness  of  charitable  judg- 
ment, but  the  justice  of  intelligent  appreciation." 

On  the  Sunday  following  the  funeral  the  Eev.  Henry  W. 
Foote  of  King's  Chapel  preached  a  memorial  sermon, 
taking  for  his  text  these  excellent  words :  "  Whatsoever 
things  are  true,  whatsoever  things  are  honest,  whatso- 
ever things  are  pure,  whatsoever  things  are  lovely,  what- 
soever things  are  of  good  report,  if  there  be  any  virtue 
and  if  there  be  any  praise,  think  on  these  things."  (Philip- 
pians  iv.  8.) 

"  In  these  wonderful  words  of  an  apostle,"  he  said,  **  we 
have  the  Christian  warrant  that  whatever  brings  beauty  and 
graciousness  into  our  human  life  is  a  power  for  good  in  human 
character.  My  purpose  now  is  to  call  your  attention  to  the 
fact  that  in  the  same  group  with  what  may  be  called  the  seven 
virtues  of  the  gospel  is  a  distinct  recognition  of  what  may  be 
called  the  gentle  aspects  of  life.     Side  by  side  with  the  things 


HER  LIFE,  LETTERS,  AND  MEMORIES.  289 

of  truth,  honesty,  justice,  purity,  are  *  whatsoever  things  are 
lovely  and  of  good  report.'  I  take  the  words  as  a  recognition 
among  the  forces  of  Christianity,  not  only  of  moral  loveliness, 
but  also  of  those  forms  of  beauty  and  power  which  appeal 
through  the  aesthetic  sense  to  the  soul.  They  seem  to  declare 
not  only  that  religion  is  not  hostile  to  these  things,  but  that 
it  is  able  to  make  them  helpful  to  itself.  They  would  show 
art  has  a  consecrated  function  to  fulfil 

*'  The  only  true  theory  of  art  is  this,  that  its  function  is  to 
create  beauty  and  power,  and  to  make  that  beauty  and  power 
bear  upon  the  human  soul.  But  what  kind  of  beauty  1  Let 
Raphael  answer,  writing  to  a  friend  :  '  As  I  have  not  under 
my  eyes  any  model  which  satisfies  me,  I  make  one  of  a  certain 
ideal  of  beauty  which  I  find  in  my  soul.'  Let  Michael  Angelo 
answer  in  the  words  of  one  of  his  majestic  sonnets  :  '  Expand- 
ing her  wings  to  rise  toward  the  heaven  whence  she  descended, 
the  soul  does  not  linger  on  the  beauty  which  entices  the  eye, 
and  which  is  as  frail  as  it  is  treacherous ;  but  she  seeks  in 
her  sublime  flight  to  attain  the  principle  of  universal  beauty.' 
And  then  she  seeks  to  bring  this  principle  to  bear  upon  the 
elevation  of  human  character  through  its  refining  and  quick- 
ening influences.  This,  and  nothing  less  than  this,  is  the  view 
which  Christianity  would  take  of  those  great  persuasive,  at- 
tractive forces  which  so  enrich  and  beautify  modern  life.  It 
would  bid  them  use  their  opportunities  as  ministering  hand- 
maids *at  the  gate  of  the  temple  called  Beautiful,'  so  that 
it  shall  be  easier  for  men  to  enter  in  by  them  to  the  Temple 
itself.  .... 

"  Many  among  you,  my  hearers,  are  making  an  application 
which  is  naturally  suggested  by  these  thoughts.  The  remark- 
able manifestation  of  public  sorrow  which  was  seen  in  this 
church  six  days  ago,  thronging  not  only  this  house  of  prayer, 
but  the  ways  around  it,  and  yonder  hill  of  the  dead,  with  mul- 
titudes in  every  condition  of  life,  drawn  by  a  like  sympathetic 
feeling,  not  merely  of  a  common  admiration  for  a  genius  that 
had  dazzled  and  delighted  them,  but  of  appreciation  of  a  noble 


290  CHARLOTTE  CUSHMAN  : 

and  generous  character,  —  that  general  outpouring  seems  to 
give  the  keynote  for  our  thoughts.  Others  have  spoken,  and 
will  speak,  of  the  light  of  genius  which  shone  with  strong  and 
vivid  glow  on  so  many  thousands  of  the  English-speaking  race. 
Many  here  will  long  remember  the  hospitalities  which  wel- 
comed them  in  the  ancient  city  by  the  Tiber,  and  filled  its 
classic  spaces  with  kind  and  modern  friendliness.  Those 
whom  the  ties  of  friendship  bound  to  her  with  peculiar 
strength,  by  the  magnetism  of  a  large  and  forceful  nature, 
by  gratitude  for  innumerable  acts  of  generous  thought  which 
took  shape  in  effective  deed,  will  feel  that  the  world  has  lost 
much  of  its  light  for  them.  And  in  this  community,  to  which 
she  belonged,  and  whose  best  characteristics  were  deeply  im- 
pressed upon  her  character,  there  will  seem  a  special  fitness 
that  her  earthly  life  closed  in  her  native  place,  which  was 
ever  near  her  heart.  I  cannot  doubt  that  some  fitting  me- 
morial services  will  hereafter  be  held  to  give  expression  to  all 
these.  But  in  this  sacred  place  (which  she  herself  chose  for 
these  last  offices,  perhaps  because  it  is  wellnigh  the  most  char- 
acteristic thing  of  the  Boston  that  she  loved)  it  is  alone  fitting 
to  dwell  on  the  moral  and  religious  lessons  which  always  com- 
fort us  in  the  presence  of  death,  which  comfort  us  with  special 
earnestness  when  we  see  them  illustrated  in  a  noble  character, 
and  shining  the  more  brightly  against  the  earthly  shadows 
which  fall  around  the  close  of  a  remarkable  career. 

"  I  have  spoken  in  the  beginning  of  this  discourse  of  the 

pure,  true  function  of  consecrated  art The  principles 

which  lie  at  the  heart  of  this  spirit  of  true  art  are  much  more 
close  than  we  are  apt  to  think  to  the  common  life  of  us  all. 
....  So  it  follows  that,  in  a  sense,  the  true  theory  of  life  is 
to  consider  it  as  an  art ;  and  the  true  art  of  life  is  to  interpret 
God's  purpose  of  what  it  should  be  in  noble  and  worthy  treat- 
ment of  it.  The  first  necessity  of  true  art  is  this,  —  that  it 
must  follow  a  high  ideal ;  and  none  ever  accomplished  this 
without  having  the  eye  fixed  on  an  ideal  always  higher,  never 
attained,  but  shining  like  a  guiding  star. 


HER  LIFE,  LETTERS,  AND  MEMORIES.  291 

"  And  here  that  gifted  woman,  who  has  done  so  much  to 
show  our  time  how  a  vocation  which  is  beset  with  peculiar 
difficulties  and  temptations  may  be  filled  in  a  lofty  spirit,  may 
well  teach  us  how  near  the  true  spirit  of  art  is  to  Christianity. 
When  we  see  that  one  has  lived  on  this  earth  in  whom  the 
ideal  of  truth  and  love  and  goodness  is  made  real,  we  may 
well  recognize  that  Christ's  coming  answers  the  soul's  longing 
by  giving  to  it  the  type  of  a  perfection  toward  which  it  is  to 
strive  for  ever  and  ever. 

"  There  was  a  time  when  the  world  sneered  at  the  possibility 
of  virtue  in  dramatic  life,  and  by  the  sneer,  and  what  went 
with  it,  did  its  worst  to  make  virtue  impossible.  But  it  has 
been  given  to  our  generation  to  show,  in  lives  among  which 
happily  our  noble  townswoman  does  not  stand  alone,  that  a 
pure  spirit  can  go  stainless,  as  the  lady  in  Milton's  ^  Comus,' 
through  corruptions.  In  one  of  those  solemn  hours,  when  the 
soul  looks  back  on  the  past  to  read  its  lessons,  she  said,  not 
long  before  her  death,  to  one  for  whom  she  could  draw  aside 
the  veil  of  her  thoughts  :  *  I  have  tried  to  live  honestly ;  I 
have  tried  to  show  women  that  it  was  possible  to  live  a  pure, 
noble  life.'  Let  women  and  men  be  thankful  that  she  suc- 
ceeded greatly,  that  society  is  purer,  that  the  tone  of  that 
which  has  sometimes  been  one  of  the  most  demoralizing,  and 
which  can  be  one  of  the  most  helpful  public  influences,  has 
been  elevated  in  no  small  degree  by  her  example.  One  great 
secret  of  the  public  power  of  that  woman  of  genius,  whose 
memory  is  with  you  to-day,  was,  that  she  lived  with  the  great 
thoughts  which  she  interpreted  until  they  were  her  very  self 
and  she  was  they.  Those  who  knew  her  best,  best  knew  how 
the  masters  of  thought  were  guests  at  home  in  her  mind.  It 
was  but  a  few  hours  before  she  died  that  she  bade  a  friend 
read  to  her  the  grand  poem  of  *  Columbus,'  by  one  of  our  own 
poets;  and  when  in  the  dim  light  her  friend  failed  to  read  some 
words  aright,  the  mind,  clear  and  strong  as  ever,  set  her  right 
from  her  unfailing  memory 

"  What  way  shall  I  live  1    What  shall  I  do  1    These  are 


292  CHARLOTTE   CUSHMAN : 

the  questions  which  lie  at  the  base  of  all  true  living,  alike  for 
the  peerless  genius  and  for  us  all.  The  things  which  are 
lovely  must  be  imperishably  intertwined  with  those  which 
are  true  and  honest,  just  and  pure,  for  they  come  from  Him 
who  is  perfect  beauty  and  perfect  truth." 

On  the  same  day  the  Eev.  Dr.  Bartol  preached  a  ser- 
mon on  the  "  Pulpit  and  the  Stage,"  in  which  he  brought 
together  the  names  of  Charlotte  Cushman  and  Horace 
Bushnell.  After  contrasting  the  two  in  their  different 
and  seemingly  widely  differing  roles,  he  proceeds  to  show 
how  they  approximate  in  the  motive  which  swayed  them 
in  their  separate  avocations,  how  they  meet  in  the  way 
either  was  pursued. 

"Both  Charlotte  Cushman  as  an  actress  and  Horace 
Bushnell  as  a  preacher  cultivated  the  capacity  of  appro- 
priating to  themselves  what  they  saw  moral  and  lovely  in 
others,  and  they  reaped  the  proper  fruit  to  nourish  them- 
selves and  others. 

"  The  heavenly  grace  and  human  strength  were  doubtless 
fused  together  in  both,  and  the  stage,  I  think,  should  be  more 
proud  of  the  conduct  than  even  of  the  unmatched  achieve- 
ment of  its  American  queen  and  pattern  in  every  way.  Was 
aught  left  for  her  of  the  hag  in  Meg  Merrilies,  or  of  horror 
in  Dickens's  Nancy  Sykesl  The  impersonation  of  these 
parts  was  clear  and  sweet,  in  perfect  balance,  without  one 
gaping  defect  or  eccentric  fault.  A  born  princess,  she  was 
native  to  command.  A  wave  of  influence,  as  from  a  magnetic 
battery  to  a  company  holding  hands,  swept  from  her,  and  laid 
on  the  thousands  in  the  assembly  she  acted  or  read  to  one 
hushing  spell.  She  had  what  the  French  historian  attributes 
to  Csesar,  —  charm.  It  was  moral  grandeur  in  and  through 
the  artist's  gift. 

*  What  majesty  is  in  her  gait  ?    Remember 
If  e'er  thou  look'dst  on  majesty.' 


HER  LIFE,  LETTERS,   AND  MEMORIES.  293 

And  whoever  listened  to  or  conversed  with  Charlotte  Cushman 
had  a  sense  of  something  unaffectedly  imperial  in  her  port 
and  style.  With  one  comprehensive  and  swift-revolving  glance 
how  she  gathered  her  audience  in ;  with  a  single  persuasive 
smile  how  she  melted  them !  Her  magnificent  presence 
answering  to  the  proportions  of  the  largest  buildings,  her 
cathedral  voice,  that  could  make  of  any  hall  a  whispering- 
gallery,  all  the  instruments  and  tools  of  her  art  down  to 
the  color  on  her  face  and  neck,  how  masterly  !  But  the  irre- 
proachable woman,  the  soul  intangible  with  evil,  the  generous 
nature,  contributed  how  much  !  Humanity  responded  to  one 
unsurpassably  humane.  A  true  and  quite  un-Romish  catholic, 
she  embraced  all ;  nothing  in  her  race  too  low  for  her  fellow- 
ship or  too  high  for  her  reach.  She  was  of  no  creed  or  par- 
ticular church,  but  a  worshipper  in  every  sanctuary,  a  sympa- 
thizer with  every  votary,  a  believer  in  the  divine  unity,  and  a 
hoper  for  immortality.  Who  may  part  or  put  asunder  what 
God  hath  joined  together  ?  She  made  the  connection  of  genius 
and  virtue. 

"  In  my  two  illustrations  of  to-day,  pulpit  and  stage,  actor 
and  preacher,  the  power  was  as  manifest  as  the  skill.  Both 
had  alike,  not  only  in  their  mode  of  communication  the  circle 
of  beauty,  but  in  the  substance  of  demeanor  the  indomitable 
and  rectilinear  will.  The  circle  was  so  large,  it  was  the  right 
line  of  heaven  and  earth  ;  and  to  preachers  and  actors  I  com- 
mend them  as  models  which  to  copy  is  equally  blessed  and 
safe.  They  alike  united  personal  independence  with  the  most 
gracious  salute.  Stepping  to  the  footlights  to  rebuke  inso- 
lence in  the  house,  writing  a  public  letter  to  resist  philan- 
thropic blackmail,  insisting  on  justice  to  others  as  to  herself  be- 
hind the  scenes,  a  pattern  of  artists  in  every  sort,  —  Miss  Cush- 
man showed  always  the  resolution  with  which,  when  her  voice 
failed  for  music,  she  strode  upon  the  stage.  Conservative  in 
her  stand,  a  lover  of  the  old  ways  and  solemn  forms  of  wor- 
ship, yet  from  any  one  taking  a  different  position  she  claims 
the  honor  due  to  her  own  unbounded  tolerance,  charity,  and 


294  CHARLOTTE   CUSHMAN  : 

liberty  of  thought.  So  Dr.  Bushnell,  as  a  preacher,  signalized 
a  singular  consonance  with  our  actor's  unequivocal  stamp  ;  as 
in  the  labor  of  their  several  provinces  and  professions  they 
were  alike  untiring,  and  neither  could  carry  off  from  the  other 
the  palm,  while  in  an  obsequious,  superficial,  and  dissipated 
age  both  held  the  standard  of  courageous  diligence  aloft. 

"  To  the  soul,  nothing  is  gone.  Love  lias  no  past.  Said  to 
me  her  nearest  companion  :  *  I  must  speak  of  Miss  Cush- 
man  in  the  present  tense.*  Never  more  than  in  her  was 
expressed  the  power  to  live  and  be  herself  despite  sickness 
and  distress.  The  whole  of  Charlotte  Cushman  could  live  and 
act  in  the  least  remnant  of  her  bodily  strength.  Eye  and 
voice  are  last  to  go  ;  they  remain  and  haunt  us  still." 

From  the  New  York  Tribune's  obituary  notice,  in  wMcli 
we  recognize  the  effort  of  one  of  the  most  kindly,  true- 
hearted,  and  intelligent  critics  known  to  the  press  of  this 
country,  —  William  Winter,  —  I  select  the  following :  — 

"  There  is  something  so  awfully  impressive  in  the  vanishing 
of  a  great  genius  and  a  great  force  of  noble  intellect  and  char- 
acter out  of  this  world,  that  reverence  must  pause  before  the 
spectacle,  no  less  in  humanity  than  in  sorrow.  The  historian 
of  our  time  will  review  many  important  and  significant  lives, 
and  will  lay  the  laurel  upon  many  a  storied  tomb  ;  but  he  will 
honor  no  genius  more  stately  or  more  singular  than  that  which 
now  sleeps  in  the  coffin  of  Charlotte  Cushman.  It  is  difficult, 
if  not  impossible,  at  once  to  do  justice  to  such  a  life.  The 
end,  which  came  yesterday  in  Boston,  though  not  unexpected, 
was  sudden ;  and  it  comes  upon  the  mind  with  a  solemn  force 
that  prompts  to  silent  thought  and  fond  remembrance  more 
than  to  words.  The  future  will  speak  of  Charlotte  Cushman 
with  pride  and  gladness ;  the  present  can  only  tell  her  story 
in  the  quiet  accents  of  grief. 

"  Only  twenty  days  ago,  in  her  room  at  the  Parker  House, 
Boston,  she  spoke  with  cheerful  confidence  of  her  anticipated 
restoration  to  health.     Her  eyes  were  bright,  her  voice  was 


HER  LIFE,  LETTERS,  AND  MEMORIES.  295 

firm,  though  suffused  in  every  tone  with  an  unconscious  sad- 
ness most  deeply  touching  and  quite  indescribable,  and  her 
noble  countenance  indicated  such  a  vitality  as  it  seemed  im- 
possible that  death  could  conquer.  To  the  last  she  was  an 
image  of  majesty.  The  pain  that  consumed  her  suffering 
body  could  never  quell  her  royal  spirit.  She  could  look 
back  upon  a  good  life ;  she  was  sustained  by  religious  faith ; 
she  felt  upon  her  gray  hair  the  spotless  crown  of  honor ;  she 
met  death  as  she  had  met  life,  a  victor ;  and  she  has  passed 
from  the  world  with  all  the  radiance  of  her  glory  about  her, 
like  sunset  from  a  mountain  peak,  that  vanishes  at  once  into 
the  heavens. 

"  The  greatness  of  Charlotte  Cushman  was  that  of  an  ex- 
ceptional, because  grand  and  striking  personality,  combined 
with  extraordinary  power  to  embody  the  highest  ideals  of 
majesty,  pathos,  and  appalling  anguish.  She  was  not  a  great 
actress  merely,  but  she  was  a  great  woman.  She  did  not 
possess  the  dramatic  faculty  apart  from  other  faculties,  and 
conquer  by  that  alone ;  but  having  that  faculty  in  almost  un- 
limited fulness,  she  poured  forth  through  its  channel  such 
resources  of  character,  intellect,  moral  strength,  soul,  and  per- 
sonal magnetism  as  marked  her  for  a  genius  of  the  first  order, 
while  they  made  her  an  irresistible  force  in  art.  When  she 
came  upon  the  stage  she  filled  it  with  the  brilliant  vitality  of 
her  presence.  Every  movement  that  she  made  was  winningly 
characteristic.  Her  least  gesture  was  eloquence.  Her  voice, 
which  was  soft  or  silvery,  or  deep  or  mellow,  according  as  emotion 
affected  it,  used  now  and  then  to  tremble,  and  partly  to  break, 
with  tones  that  were  pathetic  beyond  description.  These  were 
denotements  of  the  fiery  soul  that  smouldered  beneath  her 
grave  exterior,  and  gave  irridescence  to  every  form  of  art 
that  she  embodied.  Sometimes  her  whole  being  seemed  to 
become  petrified  in  a  silent  suspense  more  thrilling  than  any 
action,  as  if  her  imagination  were  suddenly  inthralled  by  the 
tumult  and  awe  of  its  own  vast  perceptions. 

"  As  an  actress,  Miss  Cushman  was  best  in  tragedy,  whether 


296  CHARLOTTE  CUSHMAN : 

lurid  or  pathetic,  and  in  sombre  melodrama.  Theatrical  his- 
tory will  probably  associate  her  name  more  intimately  with 
Meg  Merrilies  than  with  any  other  character.  This  production 
was  unique.  The  art  method  by  which  it  was  projected  was 
peculiar  in  this,  that  it  disregarded  probability  and  addressed 
itself  to  the  imaginative  perception.  Miss  Cushman  could 
give  free  rein  to  her  frenzy  in  this  character,  and  that  was 
why  she  loved  it  and  excelled  in  it,  and  was  able  by  means  of 
it  to  reveal  herself  so  amply  and  distinctly  to  the  public  mind. 
What  she  thus  revealed  was  a  power  of  passionate  emotion  as 
swift  as  the  lightning  and  as  wild  as  the  gale,  —  an  individ- 
uality fraught  with  pathos,  romance,  tenderness,  grandeur, 
the  deep  knowledge  of  grief,  and  the  royal  strength  of 
endurance.  Her  Meg  Merrilies  was  not  her  greatest  work, 
but  it  was  her  most  startling  and  effective  one,  because  it  was 
the  sudden  and  brilliant  illumination  of  her  being.  In  deal- 
ing with  the  conceptions  of  Shakespeare,  Miss  Cushman's 
spirit  was  the  same,  but  her  method  was  different.  As  Meg 
Merrilies,  she  obeyed  the  law  of  her  own  nature ;  as  Queen 
Katherine,  she  obeyed  the  law  of  the  poetic  ideal  that  encom- 
passed her.  In  that  stately,  sweet,  and  pathetic  character, 
and  again,  though  to  a  less  extent  in  the  terrible  yet  tender 
character  of  Lady  Macbeth,  both  of  which  she  apprehended 
through  an  intellect  always  clear  and  an  imagination  always 
adequate,  the  form  and  limitations  prescribed  by  the  dominant 
genius  of  the  poet  were  scrupulously  respected.  She  made 
Shakespeare  real,  but  she  never  dragged  him  down  to  the 
level  of  the  actual.  She  knew  the  heights  of  that  wondrous 
intuition  and  potent  magnetism,  and  she  lifted  herself  and  her 
hearers  to  their  grand  and  beautiful  eminence.  Her  best 
achievements  in  the  illustration  of  Shakespeare  were  accord- 
ingly of  the  highest  order  of  art.  They  were  at  once  human 
and  poetic.  They  were  white  marble  suffused  with  fire.  They 
thrilled  the  heart  with  emotion  and  passion,  and  they  filled 
the  imagination  with  a  thoroughly  satisfying  sense  of  beauty, 
power,  and  completeness.     They  have  made   her  illustrious. 


HER  LIFE,  LETTERS,  AND   MEMORIES.  297 

They  have  done  much  to  assert  the  possible  grandeur  and 
beneficence  of  the  stage,  and  to  confirm  it  in  the  affectionate 
esteem  of  thoughtful  men  and  women.  They  remain  now  as  a 
rich  legacy  in  the  remembrance  of  this  generation,  and  they 
will  pass  into  history  among  the  purest,  highest,  and  most  cher- 
ished works  that  genius  has  inspired  and  art  has  accomplished 
to  adorn  an  age  of  culture  and  to  elevate  the  human  mind." 

From  the  Boston  Advertiser  we  select  these  few  heart- 
felt words  :  — 

"Miss  Cushman's  death  makes  vacant  a  place  in  art  which 
there  is  no  one  to  fill.  She  won  and  held  the  highest  honors 
as  an  actress,  but  it  is  impossible  to  separate  her  life  from  her 
art,  or  the  woman  from  the  actress.  As  she  advanced  in  noble 
acting  she  advanced  in  noble  living ;  and  at  the  height  of  her 
great  artistic  success  she  was  so  generous  and  magnificent  a 
woman  that  the  noblest  dramatic  representation  seemed  only 
her  natural  expression.  On  the  stage  and  off  she  was  essentially 
the  same,  putting  her  heart  and  her  power  into  whatever  she 
had  to  do.  She  was  endowed  with  a  strong  and  brilliant  mind, 
an  unconquerable  will,  keen  wit,  and  exquisite  sense  of  humor. 
To  these  were  added  a  conscience  that  made  her  a  severe  stu- 
dent, and  energy  that  made  her  a  tireless  worker. 

"Strong  as  she  was  physically,  disease  beset  her  with  open  or 
insidious  attacks,  and  her  defence  was  long  and  heroic ;  never 
did  human  will  or  human  frame  sustain  a  more  persistent  siege, 
never  did  they  offer  more  gallant  defence.  Long  after  anybody 
else  would  have  yielded  to  pain  she  pursued  her  art,  acting  with 
her  accustomed  power  and  with  no  faltering.  It  helped  her, 
she  said,  to  forget  herself.  All  through  the  last  weeks  of  her 
life  she  has  for  a  portion  of  every  day  received  her  friends,  and 
been  the  most  gracious  hostess,  —  never  alluding  to  her  health 
unless  asked,  and  then  putting  the  subject  aside  as  soon  as 
possible,  and  talking  of  the  events  of  the  day,  of  literature, 
art,  and  people,  with  the  warmest  interest  and  the  most 
sparkling  vivacity.     Often  she  would  pause,  her  face  would 


298  CHAELOTTE   CUSHMAN  : 

flush  or  grow  pale,  and  pain  would  for  a  moment  cloud  her  eyes 
or  make  her  shiver ;  but  not  one  word  of  it  would  she  say,  and 
directly  would  go  on  in  the  old  brave,  cheerful  way.  It  was 
admirable,  but  infinitely  touching.  Miss  Cushman  possessed 
in  a  remarkable  degree  the  power  of  attaching  women  to  her. 
They  loved  her  with  utter  devotion,  and  she  repaid  their  love 
with  the  wealth  of  her  great  warm  heart ;  young  girls  gave 
her  genuine  hero-worship,  which  she  received  with  a  gracious 
kindness,  that  neither  encouraged  the  worship  nor  wounded 
the  worshipper ;  mature  women  loved  and  trusted  her  wholly 
to  the  last  hour  of  her  life.  She  had  the  perfect  service  of  the 
purest  friendship,  and  beyond  that,  numbers  of  noble  women 
waiting  to  give  and  receive  unfailing  sympathy  and  affection. 
Miss  Cushman's  triumphs  have  been  great ;  but  the  greatest 
of  these  was  the  character  that  won  such  friends.  Laurels  for 
the  actress  will  lie  thick  upon  her  grave,  but  they  will  be  wet 
with  the  tears  of  those  who  mourn  for  the  loving  friend,  the 
heroic  woman." 

The  New  York  Evening  Post  enshrines  her  memory  in 
words  "  fit  though  few." 

"  All  lovers  of  the  dramatic  art  will  be  pained  to  learn  that 
one  of  its  greatest  interpreters  in  the  present  era,  Charlotte 
Cushman,  has  passed  away ;  and  their  sorrow  will  be  shared 
by  every  man  and  woman  who  reveres  high  purpose  and  in- 
domitable force  of  will  for  its  own  sake. 

"  Charlotte  Cushman  was  something  more  than  a  remark- 
able actress ;  her  public  career  was  merely  the  mirror  in 
which  the  strong  features  of  her  private  character  appeared  as 
reflected  images;  and  many  a  fainting  spirit  has  doubtless 
drawn  fresh  strength  from  her  example  as  a  woman,  to  whom 
the  privilege  of  witnessing  her  impersonations  on  the  stage 
has  been  denied. 

"Her  native  virtues  will  keep  her  memory  fragrant,  and 
coming  generations  will  know  her  as  one  who  carried  a  lofty 
ideal  in  her  mind,  and  lived  up  to  it ;  who  never  sacrificed 


HER  LIFE,  LETTERS,  AND  MEMORIES.  299 

principle  to  gain ;  whose  faith  in  God  and  herself  yielded  not 
under  the  weight  of  many  years  and  discouraging  vicissitudes, 
and  who  has  left  as  a  legacy  to  her  multitude  of  friends  a 
reputation  free  from  those  moral  blemishes  which  too  often 
accompany  intellectual  eminence." 

Miss  Cushman's  neighbor  and  warm  friend,  Mr.  George 
H.  Calvert  of  Newport,  lays  this  tribute  upon  her  tomb :  — 

"  The  death  of  Miss  Cushman  leaves  a  throne  empty  in  his- 
trionic art,  and  at  the  same  time  makes  a  deep  gloomy  chasm 
in  a  very  wide  circle  of  friendship.  To  be  at  once  admired, 
esteemed,  honored,  and  beloved,  is  a  rare  fortune  for  one  indi- 
vidual ;  it  denotes  an  abundant  and  gifted  organization.  The 
high-souled,  commanding  queen  on  the  stage  was  in  private 
most  affectionate,  most  tender,  most  sympathetic. 

"  Out  of  the  richness  of  her  nature  came  the  manifold  sym- 
pathies that  made  her  so  great  in  public,  so  warmly  welcome, 
so  devotedly  cherished,  in  private.  How  animating,  how 
cheering,  to  see  her  enter  a  room  !  Her  presence  was  an  im- 
pulsion to  the  best  wheels  of  one's  mind.  It  was  at  once  an 
invitation  and  a  stimulant, —  that  powerful  countenance  in 
which  was  the  beauty  of  nobleness  and  intellectual  superior- 
ity !  Her  talk,  like  her  life,  moved  on  a  high  plane ;  petty 
things  and  off'ences,  touched  upon  for  their  significance,  were 
too  small  for  the  strong,  clean  grasp  of  her  mind.  Doing  noble, 
generous  acts  herself,  she  liked  to  talk  of  others  who  had  done 
them,  and  she  had  a  quick  insight  into  pretenders  and  sophists. 

"  Capable,  and  aiming  to  seize  principles,  she  readily  en- 
gaged in  discussion  of  them,  whether  political,  ethical,  or  ees- 
thetic.  With  great  capacity  and  fluency  of  talk,  she  was  a 
good  listener,  and  had  an  open  ear  for  wit  and  fun.  The 
hearty  ring  of  her  laugh  will  long  be  a  pleasant  memory  to 
her  friends.  The  circle  of  her  friends  was  unusually  wide  and 
various,  her  large  soul  had  room  for  so  much  ;  and  such  was  its 
truth  and  fidelity  and  fascination,  that  the  nearer  you  came  to 
her  the  dearer  she  was ;  those  loved  her  most  who  knew  her  best. 


300  CHARLOTTE   CUSHMAN  : 

Of  the  chief  mourners  for  her  loss,  it  is  a  precious  privilege 
that  to  them  it  is  given  to  shed  the  warmest  tears  for  such  a 
being.  In  their  memory  she  will  dwell  a  beneficent  presence, 
and  in  their  hearts  a  purifying  love,  ever  dropping  balm  in 
regrets." 

Mrs.  Julia  Ward  Howe  writes  to  the  "  Woman's  Jour- 
nal":— 

"  The  curtain  drops  upon  a  vanished  majesty.  One  who 
trod  the  boards  in  all  the  queendom  of  the  drama  will  do  so 
no  more.  Sorrow  rises  up  between  us  and  the  vision  of  hours 
consumed  with  the  high  interest  of  classic  personations. 
Thespis  is  perhaps  the  most  pathetic  of  the  muses,  when  she 
is  pathetic.  She  cannot  stay  to  mourn,  but  gathers  up  her 
trailing  robes  and  hides  her  tears  behind  the  mask  of  Fancy. 
But  she  and  her  ministers  should  have  been  sad  at  heart  on 
the  day  when  a  name  so  honored  and  so  dear  as  that  of  Char- 
lotte Cushman  was  answered  on  the  roll-call  by  the  silence  of 
death. 

"  The  question  here  arises,  —  Is  it  a  true  majesty,  that  of  the 
stage  1  Is  it  a  poor  mimic  and  mockery  of  the  majesty  which 
dwells  in  palaces  and  commands  the  ministry  of  art  instead  of 
furnishing  it  1  We  should  say,  on  the  contrary,  that,  as  the 
representative  of  human  fate  and  feeling,  the  majesty  of  the 
drama  has  a  grandeur  and  a  permanence  which  that  of  the  pal- 
ace only  attains  by  rare  and  unaccustomed  merit.  The  gran- 
deur of  a  human  life  is  such  that  adventitious  circumstances 
do  not  really  heighten  it,  though  to  our  short-sighted  gaze  they 
seem  to  do  so.  Theories  of  society  have  changed  since  Shakes- 
peare's day,  and  we  of  to-day  may  be  inclined  to  alter  a  word 
in  his  well-known  line  and  say,  — 

*  There 's  a  vulgarity  doth  hedge  a  king,'  — 

the  vulgarity  of  adulation,  which  the  sincerer  public  of  the 
theatre  cannot  offer,  because  nature  will  not  allow  it  to  do  so. 
No  aesthetic  crown  is  loftier  than  that  of  the  artist  who  has 


HER  LIFE,  LETTERS,  AND  MEMORIES.  301 

worthily  walked  in  this  true  majesty  of  life  upon  the  scene, 
receiving  at  every  step  the  tribute  of  grateful  and  admiring 
hearts. 

"  Our  friend  had  this  true  crowning.  When  we  recall  her 
form  and  action,  we  must  rehearse  the  lines  of  Elizabeth 

Browning :  — 

*  Juno,  where  is  now  the  glory 
Of  thy  regal  port  and  tread  ? 
Will  they  lay,  forevermore,  thee 
In  thy  strait,  low,  golden  bed  ? 
"Will  thy  queendom  all  lie  hid 
Meekly  under  either  hd  ? ' 

But  the  crown  of  all  crowns  is  that  of  character ^  and  in  this 
respect  our  friend's  record  does  not  belie  her  broad  brow  and 
generous  smile.  Laborious,  faithful,  affectionate,  tender,  her 
daily  life  fulfilled  all  that  her  art-prophecies  promised.  Rich 
were  they  who  dwelt  within  the  cordial  influence  of  her  words 
and  acts.  Bright  and  sunny  was  the  home  which  her  pres- 
ence illuminated.  Distant  friends  turned  towards  her  with 
loving  memory,  and  those  who  needed  and  deserved  friendship 
found  it  in  her. 

"  So  let  our  tributes  to  her  memory  be  heart  tributes  all. 
She  loved  much,  served  much,  earned  by  hard  work  a  noble 
reputation,  and  has  left  an  example  in  which  her  race  is 
enriched." 

On  behalf  of  the  profession,  of  which  he  is  an  esteemed 
member,  Mr.  Lawrence  Barrett  has  recorded  in  a  few 
fervent  words  this  "Tribute  to  Charlotte  Cushman's 
Memory  " :  — 

"Charlotte  Cushman  is  dead.  Before  the  shock  of  this 
news  has  passed  away  it  cannot  be  improper  to  recall  to  her 
professional  brethren  the  great  loss  we  sustain  by  this  sudden 
departure.  After  a  long  life  of  toil,  laden  with  years  and 
honors,  she  sleeps  at  last.  That  crown  which  she  has  worn 
for  so  many  years  undisputed  now  lies  upon  a  coffin  beside 
which  a  whole  nation  will  mourn.     The  world  contained  no 


302  CHARLOTTE   CUSHMAN : 

greater  spirit,  no  nobler  woman.  Her  genius  filled  the  world 
with  admiration,  and  the  profession  which  she  adorned  and 
ruled  must  long  await  her  successor.  This  is  not  the  place, 
nor  is  mine  the  pen,  to  write  her  history ;  larger  space  and 
abler  hands  will  see  that  duty  performed.  These  lines  are 
traced  by  one  who  loved  her  living  and  weeps  for  her  now 
dead.  Her  career  is  an  incentive  and  an  example  to  all  the 
workers  in  our  noble  art.  A  woman  of  genius,  industrious 
and  religious,  her  best  education  was  obtained  within  the  cir- 
cle of  her  calling.  Almost  masculine  in  manner,  there  was 
yet  a  gentleness  in  her  which  only  her  intimates  could  know. 
The  voice  which  crooned  the  lullaby  of  the  Bertrams  so  touch- 
ingly  came  from  a  heart  as  gentle  as  infancy.  To  all  who 
labor  in  the  realms  of  art,  and  to  my  profession  most  espe- 
cially, the  loss  of  this  day  will  be  a  severe  one.  Bigotry  itself 
must  stand  abashed  before  the  life  of  our  dead  queen,  whose 
every  thought  and  act  were  given  for  years  to  an  art  which 
ignorance  and  envy  have  battled  against  in  vain  for  centuries. 
To  her,  our  queen,  we  say,  '  Peace  and  farewell ! '     We  shall 

not  look  upon  her  like  again. 

"Lawrence  Barrett. 
"New  York,  February  18,  1876." 

These  are  but  a  few  of  the  public  expressions  of  univer- 
sal regret  and  admiration ;  private  utterances  to  the  same 
effect  were  many  and  heartfelt.  We  may  fitly  close  our 
record  with  this  tender  and  touching  tribute  from  her 
friend,  H.  H. 

CHARLOTTE  CUSHMAN. 

I. 
But  yesterday  it  was.     Long  years  ago 
It  seems.     The  world  so  altered  looks  to-day 
That,  journeying  idly  with  my  thoughts  astray, 
I  gazed  where  rose  one  lofty  peak  of  snow 
Above  grand  tiers  on  tiers  of  peaks  below. 
One  moment  brief  it  shone,  then  sank  away, 
As  swift  we  reached  a  point  where  foot-hills  lay 


HER  LIFE,  LETTERS,  AND  MEMORIES.  303 

So  near  they  seemed  like  mountains  huge  to  grow 
And  touch  the  sky.     That  instant,  idly  still, 
My  eye  fell  on  a  printed  line,  and  read 
Incredulous,  with  sudden  anguished  thrill, 
The  name  of  this  great  queen  among  the  dead. 
I  raised  my  eyes.    The  dusty  foot-hills  near 
Had  gone.    Again  the  snowy  peak  shone  clear, 

II. 
0  thou  beloved  woman,-  soul  and  heart 
And  life,  thou  standest  unapproached  and  grand, 
As  still  that  glorious  snowy  peak  doth  stand. 
The  dusty  hairier  our  clumsy  art 
In  terror  hath  called  Death  holds  thee  apart 
From  us.     'T  is  but  the  low  foot-hill  of  sand 
Which  bars  our  vision  in  a  mountain-land. 
One  moment  farther  on,  and  we  shall  start 
With  speechless  joy  to  find  that  we  have  passed 
The  dusky  mound  which  shut  us  from  the  light 
Of  thy  great  love,  still  quick  and  waim  and  fast, 
Of  thy  great  strengths,  heroically  cast. 
Of  thy  great  soul,  still  glowing  pure  and  white. 
Of  thy  great  life,  still  pauseless,  full,  and  bright  I 


--^Si^J^iiSJ? 


IISTDEX. 


Actors  and  actresses,  felse  impressions  con- 
cerning, 144,  145. 
"  Adyenturers,"  Puritan  emigrants  so  called 

in  England,  3. 
'♦Advertiser,"  Boston,  obituary  notice  of 

Miss  Cushman,  297. 
Akers,  Paul,  description  of  Pagers  portrait 

of  Miss  Cushman,  92. 
AUerton,  Mary,  wife  of  Thomas  Cushman,  6 ; 

last  survivor  of  "  Mayflower  "  Pilgrims,  7. 
America,  emigration  of  Cushman  family  (o, 

in  1620,  3. 
America,  Mr.  Grattan's  book  on,  36. 
Antonio,  Miss  Cushman's  major-domo,  118. 
Arcadian  Club,  testimonial  presented  by, 

262,  263. 
Art,  dramatic,  eulogized  by  Miss  Cushman, 

142. 
**  Atlantic  Monthly,"  quotation  from,  206- 

208. 
Atlantic,    the,    Miss    Cushman's    voyages 

across,  39  -  44. 
Autograph-hunting,  157. 

Bartol,  Rev.  Dr.,  extracts  from  his  sermon 
on  "  The  Pulpit  and  the  Stage,"  292-297. 

Babbit,  Augustus,  interest  of,  in  Miss  Cush- 
man's education,  15. 

Babbit  family,  sketch  of,  9. 

Barrett,  Lawrence,  engagement  of,  to  act  with 
his  company,  245  ;  tribute  to  Miss  Cush- 
man, 302. 

Beethoven,  his  bust  by  Mathieu,  207. 

♦»  Behind  the  scenes,"  145, 147, 150. 

Bellows,  Rev.  Henry  W.,  correspondence 
relative  to  donations  to  Sanitary  Commis- 
sion, 185-187. 

Blagden,  Miss  Isaj  125, 126. 

Blanc,  Louis,  67. 


Bonheur ,  Rosa,  a  visit  to  her  studio,  166, 167. 

Booth,  Edwin,  acts  with  Miss  Cushman,  61. 

Booth's  Theatre,  farewell  engagement  in, 
256 ;  last  appearance  in,  258-264. 

Boston,  farewell  performance  in,  271-275. 

Bowery  Theatre,  burning  of,  27. 

Bradford ,  Governor ,  friendship  of,  with  Cush- 
man family,  4,  6. 

Braham,  Mr.,  remarks  on  "  Meg  Merrilies," 
149. 

Brattleboro',  Vt.,  a  winter  visit  to,  235, 236. 

Brewster,  Elder,  associated  with  Robert 
Cushman  in  1620,  3. 

Brooks,  Phillips,  opinion  of  dramatic  read- 
ing, 246. 

Brown,  Dr.  John,  127. 

Browning,  Mrs.,  170. 

Browning,  Robert,  quotation  from  "  Para- 
celsus," 43;  "Saul,"  197. 

Brownings,  the,  125, 126. 

Bryant,  William  Cullen,  259,  262. 

Bude  (England),  description  of,  209. 

"  Bushie,"  121-124, 126, 127. 

Bushnell,  Rev.  Horace,  parallel  between  his 
character  and  Miss  Cushman's,  292  -  297. 

Calvert,  George  H.,  tribute  to  Miss  Cush- 
man's memory,  299. 

Campagna  di  Roma,  description  of,  131  - 137. 

Carlyle,  Thomas,  84,  85. 

Carlyle,  Mrs.,  84,  85, 160. 

Charity,  unreasonable  requests  in  cause  of, 
commented  on  by  Miss  Cushman,  155  - 157. 

Childhood,  records  of  Miss  Cushman's,  13- 
18. 

Children,  her  love  of,  170-172. 

Chorley,  Henry  F.,  letters  from,  68 -72,  99, 
100  ;  play  written  by,  70, 91. 

Christmas  letters  and  gifts,  279-281. 


306 


INDEX. 


Climate,  Roman,  its  effect  on  health,  172- 
174. 

Closel,  Madame,  23. 

"  Columbus,"  the  poem  of,  284. 

Cook,  Miss  Eliza,  37. 

Crow,  Miss,  her  marriage  to  £.  C.  Gushman, 
162. 

Cushman,  Charlotte,  birth,  ancestry,  and 
family,  2-12.  Early  recollections,  12-15, 
19  -  22.  First  performance  of  Lady  Mac- 
beth, 22.  Engagement  at  Bowery  Theatre, 
26, 27  ;  at  Park  Theatre,  31, 32.  On  board 
the  "  Garrick,"  39-44.  In  Scotland,  44. 
First  London  engagement,  46  -  58.  Letters 
from  Miss  Cushman,  47-50.  Her  ear- 
nestness, 56,  240.  The  Cushman  sisters 
as  Romeo  and  Juliet,  58  -  60.  Comments 
of  the  press,  60-63.  In  Dublin,  64  -  67  ; 
Switzerland,  69.  Letters  to  a  young  friend, 
79-83.  In  Rome,  91.  Page's  portrait,  92. 
In  England  —  letter  to  Mrs.  Muspratt  on 
death  of  her  child,  94.  The  London  home, 
96.  Through  the  provinces,  98.  In  Rome 
—  first  acquaintance  with  Miss  Stebbins, 
100.  Personal  appearance,  101,102.  Kind- 
ness and  benevolence  of,  103-195,  146, 
147.  Musical  ability,  185-108.  The  apart- 
ments in  Rome,  112-116.  Letters  from 
Miss  Peabody,  139.  Incident  at  McVick- 
er's  Theatre,  146,  147.  Meg  Merrilies, 
147  - 152.  Letter  upon  charities,  155. 
Death  of  Mrs.  Muspratt,  159.  Bust  by 
Miss  Stebbins,  161.  Letters  from  Eng- 
land, 163-166.  Letter  from  Paris,  166. 
Enjoyment  of  French  stage,  168,  169. 
Love  of  children,  170-172.  Religious 
views,  177  - 184.  Interest  in  Sanitary 
Commission,  185  - 187.  Letters  from  Rome, 
192  -  196.  Death  of  Mrs.  Cushman,  203. 
First  appearance  of  malady,  229.  Advice 
of  physicians,  230.  Return  to  America, 
232.  Letter  on  dedication  of  the  Cushman 
School,  237.  Engagement  at  Booth's 
Theatre,  N.  Y.,  237,  241,  242.  Western 
tour,  243.  Reading  at  Narragansett,  244. 
Illness  at  the  South,  245.  Letters  from 
Newport,  246-261.  Letters  from  the 
West,  252-255.  Farewell  to  New  York, 
258  -  265.  Farewell  to  Philadelphia,  265  - 
267.  Readings  —  illness  in  Cincinnati,  267. 
Farewell  to  Boston,  271-275.  Last  win- 
ter in  Boston,  277.  Letters  from  Parker 
House,  Boston,  279-284.  Death,  284. 
Funeral  ceremonies,  285,  286. 

Cushman,  Elkanah,  7. 

Cushman,  Mrs.,  death  of,  203. 

Cushman,  Robert,  2-5. 

Cushman,  Susan,  letter  relating  to,  36 ;  acts 


Vfith  her  sister,  58  -  60,  68 ;  marries  Dr. 

Muspratt,  68,  90  ;  death  of  her  child,  94, 

95  ;  illness  and  death  of,  159. 
Cushman,  Thomas,  5,  6. 
Cushman  School,  the,  237  -24L 

Dante,  Longfellow's  translation  of,  193. 

Death  and  burial.  Miss  Cushman's,  284  -  286. 

Dickens,  Charles,  154. 

Disappointment  in  early  life,  letter  refer- 
ring to,  182-184. 

Dramatic  characters,  principal,  performed 
by  Miss  Cushman— Bianca,  51-53;  Mrs. 
Haller,  26,  32  ;  Hamlet,  216,  217  ;  Lady 
Macbeth,  23,  25,  215;  Meg  Merrilies,  78, 
148-153;  Nancy  Sykes,  154;  Queen 
Katharine,  71,  73,  215;  Romeo,  59-63; 
Rosalind,  54-56. 

Dramatic  readings,  211.  "King  Henry 
Vin.,"212;  "Macbeth,"  215;  "  Lady  of 
Shalott,"  219;  "Skeleton  in  Armor," 
220;  "  Battle  of  Ivry,"  221 ;  Browning's 
poems,  222-223;  "Death  of  the  Old 
Squire,"  224,  225.  Remarkable  successes, 
236,243,245,246. 

Dublin,  her  engagement  there,  65  -  67. 

Dudevant,  Madame  Aurore.  See  George 
Sand. 

Earnestness,  the  secret  of  Miss  Cushman's 
success,  56,  240. 

England,  feeling  in,  as  to  war  in  America, 
163. 

"Evening  Post"  (New  York),  obituary  no- 
tice of  Miss  Cushman  in,  298. 

Farewell  appearances,  explanation  of,  288. 

Faucit,  Miss  Helen,  45,  54, 110. 

"  Fazio,"  Milman's,  Miss  Cushman's  acting 

in,  51-53. 
Fields,  James  T.,  247. 
Foote,  Rev.  Henry  W.,  sermon  on  death  of 

Miss  Cushman,  288. 
Forrest,  Edwin,  46. 
Fox-hunting,  132, 133. 

"  Garrick,"  voyage  in  the,  39-44. 
Genealogical  records   of  Cushman   femily, 

1-7. 
Gilbert,  John,  visit  from,  at  Newport,  250, 

251. 
Girlhood,   records   of     Miss     Cushman's, 

12-19. 
Gounod,  sacred  songs  by,  108. 
Greenwood,  Grace,  travels  with,  in  Italy,  91. 
Grattan,     Thomas    Colley,     letters    from, 

33  -  37  ;  work  on  America  by,  36. 
Gutekunst,  photograph  by,  92. 


INDEX 


307 


Handel  and   Haydn   Society,   Miss  Cush- 

man's  bust  presented  to,  161. 
Harrowgate,  a  summer  in,  196, 197. 
H.  H.,  poem  on  death  of  Miss  Cuslxman  by, 

301. 
Hosmer,    Miss    Harriet,      Miss  Cushman 

visits  Rome  with,  91. 
Howe,  Mrs.    Julia  Ward,  tribute   to    Miss 

Cushman  by,  300. 

Illness,  final,  281 -285. 
Ingelow,  Jean,  her  poems,  197. 
Irish  songs,  106, 107  ;  stories,  64-66. 
Italian  servants,  116-119. 

Jackson,  Mrs.  Helen  Hunt.     See  H.  H. 
Jewsbury,  Miss,  letters  from,  74  -  78. 

Kemble,  Charles,  88. 

King's  Chapel,  chosen  for  her  obsequies, 

281;  funeral  service  and  sermon  in,  286, 

288-292. 
Knowles,  James    Sheridan,  his  opinion  of 

Miss  Cushman's  acting,  63. 

Lady  Macbeth,  first  performance  of,  22. 

Lanier,  Sidney,  poems  addressed  to  Miss 
Cushman,  268,  269. 

Lardner,  Dr.,  correspondence  with,  33. 

Lenox,  Mass.,  her  home  in,  276. 

Lincoln,  Abraham,  195, 196. 

Lippincott,  Mrs.     See  Grace  Greenwood. 

London,  her  success  in,  87-89;  home  in, 
96. 

Longfellow,  Henry  W.,  extract  from  "Hy- 
perion," 43;  translation  of  Dante,  193; 
"  Skeleton  in  Armor,"  220. 

Lover,  Samuel,  comic  song  by,  106. 

Lowell,  James  Russell,  poem  of  "  Colum- 
bus," 284. 

Macbeth,  Lady,  selected  for  Miss  Cushman's 
debilt  as  actress,  22. 

Macdonald,  George,  meeting  with,  in  Eng- 
land, 209 ;  his  opinion  of  dramatic  read- 
ing, 246,  247. 

Macready,  William,  acts  with  Miss  Cush- 
man, 30,  32 ;  invites  her  to  act  in  Paris, 
45 ;  his  farewell  benefit,  73. 

Maeder,  James  G.,  instructor  of  Miss  Cush- 
man in  singing,  22. 

Malvern,  a  favorite  resort,  75. 

Marcy,  Governor,  28. 

Marryatt,  Captain,  friendship  for  Miss  Cush- 
man, 29,  30. 

Mathieu,  Wilhelm,  his  works  purchased  by 
Miss  Cushman  for  Music  Hall,  206. 

"  Mayflower,"  the,  3,  4. 


McVicker's  Chicago  Theatre,  presentation 
of  testimonial  to  Miss  Cushman  by  per- 
formers, 146, 147. 

Mercer,  Sallie,  character  of,  37  -  39 ;  econo- 
mies of,  45 ;  her  care  of  Miss  Cushman, 
236. 

Mount  Auburn,  monument  to  be  erected  in, 
231 ;  purchase  of  plot  in,  281. 

Mozart,  his  bust  by  Mathieu,  206. 

Music  Hall,  inauguration  of  organ,  188; 
presentation  of  brackets  and  busts,  204- 
208. 

Muspratt,  Ida,  letter  on  death  of,  94,  95. 

Muspratt,  Dr.  J.  Sheridan,  68,  90. 

Muspratt,  Mrs.     See  Cushman,  Susan. 

Needlework,  Miss  Cushman's  dislike  of,  13. 

New  Haven,  reading  in,  235. 

New  Orleans,  engagement  in,  in  1860,  91  ; 
visit  to,  161 ;  illness  in,  245. 

Newport,  her  home  in,  234,  251. 

Newport  Hospital,  reading  in  aid  of,  244. 

New  York,  first  arrival  in,  26;  burning  of 
Bowery  Theatre,  27  ;  engagement  in  Park 
Theatre,  29, 33 ;  performance  for  Sanitary 
Fund,  187 ;  readings  in,  238 ;  farewell 
engagement  in,  256  ;  ovation,  269  -  265. 

Nonconformist,  Robert  Cushman  a,  2. 

Ogden,  Wm.  B.,  243,  251. 

Ohio,  travelling  adventures  at  Springfield 

and  Urbana,  253 ;    letter  from  Toledo, 

254. 
"  Othello,"  Miss  Cushman  plays  "Emilia" 

fai,31. 

Paddon,  John,  her  teacher  of  singing,  19. 
Page,  W. ,  his  portrait  of  Miss  Cushman,  92. 
Paget,  Sir  James,  229,  230. 
Palestrina,  his  bust  by  Mathieu,  205. 
Paris,  visits  to,  38, 166, 168. 
Parker  House,  residence  in,  279-284. 
Parker,  Theodore,  his  visit  to  Rome,  160. 
Peabody,  Miss  Elizabeth,  reminiscences  of 

Miss  Cushman,  139  - 142. 
Personal  appearance,  comments  on  her,  53, 

92, 101, 102 ;  on  stage,  89, 151,  152. 
Pets,  Miss  Cushman's,  121-131. 
Philadelphia,     farewell     performance     in, 

265-267. 
Photograph,  Miss  Cushman's, by  Gutekunst, 

92. 
Pius  IX.,  190,191. 

Queen  Katharine,  a  favorite  rdle,  71, 73, 212, 
215. 

Ristori,   Madame,   acquaintance  with,     in 
Italy,  97 ;  meeting  with  in  Boston,  270, 271. 
Rogers,  Samuel,  57. 


308 


INDEX. 


Boman  climate,  172-175. 

Roman  society,  175, 189. 

Rome,  Miss  Cuslimaix's  home  in,  112, 131. 

"Sallie"    (Sec  Mercer. 

Sand,  George,  Miss  Cushman's  admiration 

of,  169. 
Sanitary  Fund,  donation  to,  185-187. 
Saunders,  Miss  Cliarlotte,  10. 
School-days,  16. 
Scotland,  travels  in,  44. 
Seward,  Miss  Fanny,  189 ;   death  of,  201 ; 

letters  from  Miss  Cushman  to,  196,  200. 
Seward,  WilUam  A. ,  visit  to,  in  1861, 162 ;  the 

attempt  on  his  life,  200 ;  letter  from  Miss 

Cushman  to,  201. 
Shakespeare,  34, 62, 139,  215,  218,  260. 
"  Sheltering   Arms,"  Society  of  the.  Miss 

Cushman's  correspondence  with,  157, 158. 
Shepherd,  R.  D.,  aids  Miss  Cushman's  mu- 
sical education,  19  ;  meets  her  in  1858, 161. 
Sims,   Dr.  Marion,   consultation  with,  in 

Paris,  229. 
Simpson,  Sir  James,  230. 
Singer,  Miss  Cushman's  first  appearance  as 

public,  22 ;  loss  of  voice,  22. 
Society  in  Rome,  mixed  character  of,  175. 
Somerville,  Mrs.,  visit  to,  177. 
Spence,  Dr.,  230. 
"Spiridion,"    exponent  of   Qeorge   Sand's 

religious  views,  169. 
Stebbins,  Miss,  first  meeting  with,  100 ;  bust 

of  Miss  Cushman  by,  161. 
Stage  costume,  Miss  Cushman's  great  skill 

in,  161, 162. 


St.  Louis,  memorials  preserved  there,  153; 

visit  to,  in  1861,  161. 
Stoddard,  Richard  H.,  ode  to  Miss  Cushman 

by,  259 -262. 
Sully's  portrait  of  Miss  Cushman,  98. 
Switzerland,  visit  to,  69. 

Talfourd,   Thomas  N.,  admiration  of  her 

acting,  49. 
Tennyson,  Alfred,  199. 
Tremont  Theatre,  Miss  Cushman's  first  ap- 

pearance  in,  22. 
Trollope,Mr8.,70. 

Wales,  travels  through,  159. 

Wallack,  James,  acts  with  Miss  Cushman,  88. 

War,  excitement  among  Americans  in  Rome 
during,  162, 176. 

Ware,  Rev.  Henry,  anecdote  concerning,  14. 

Washington,  visit  to,  in  1861,  162. 

Water-cure,  Miss  Cushman  makes  trial  ofi 
256. 

Whittier,  John  G.,  his  poems,  199. 

Wight,  Isle  of,  her  impressions  of,  164. 

Winter,  William,  explanation  of  her  fare- 
wells to  the  stage,  288 ;  obituary  notice  of 
Miss  Cushman  by,  294-297. 

"Woman's  Journal"  See  Howe,  Julia 
Ward. 

Wood,  Mrs.  M.  A.,  sings  with  Miss  Cush- 
man, 20  ;  advises  her  to  go  on  the  stage, 
20;  letter  from,  21. 

Woodward  family,  remarkable  musical  abil- 
ity of,  19. 

Woolson,  Miss,  letter  from,  respecting  "  Ken- 
tucky BeUe,"  227.    'jA^.. 


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